#but the blues are like 'we never even fucking go anywhere why would we pay all the car insurance shit + parking'

[harbingersecho]

they had to pause their morning workout to drive wash to the ER at 7 am bc he somehow got hit by a car while getting mail. there's traffic. maine fiddles with the radio and carolina is imagining herself parkouring over the other cars

#rvb #red vs blue #maine #wash #carolina #agent washington #agent maine #agent carolina #mine #*24 #i just saw that image again and wanted to redraw it and this concept just manifested itself #i lost the og ref photo but its the one w/ the big beefy guy and the blonde woman + they both got tits. if u don't know it dw lol #also in a modern au carolina has like a subaru or a honda civic and it's teal. she's the only one of the blues who even has a car #tex had a motorbike. no one else in blue team even has a license except wash but he doesn't actually have a car he just needed a license #but the blues are like 'we never even fucking go anywhere why would we pay all the car insurance shit + parking' #if they rly need to they can just bum a ride from someone or wash can rent a car or whatever #carolina will only drive them (she doesn't trust wash not to crash) in an absolute emergency bc they made fun of her car saying #it's a PTA mom car and she's petty. if youre not gonna die she doesn't care

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

You Better Cross the Line

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader

2k words

Warnings: Language, reader has a nickname, lying/sneaking around, adults drink beer, Roy is already down bad, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, fluff & flirting

“Yeah, Kent. You could call me sometime.”

Roy nodded, clearly fighting the urge to smile, and squeezed your hand. “You should probably go inside soon,” he sighed as he turned his face towards the sky. “Your dad’ll be looking for you.” As though he couldn’t help it, he looked back at you. “But I’ll call you,” he promised with a firm nod.

You reluctantly left Roy on the pitch, your head swimming with wondering when the footballer would call you and what he would say. Or ask. It was clear you were no longer alone in your attraction, and that this was at least something more than an entertaining flirtation on his end.

The questions still floated in your mind while you watched your father gather his work things. When he wasn’t looking, you quickly scribbled your mobile number on a sticky note and tucked it into Roy’s locker when no one was paying attention.

In the car you were uncharacteristically quiet; normally, you and your dad would spend the drive chatting about training, about the players, about any football news or rumors you’d read while sitting in his office. But today, your thoughts were too full of Roy Kent and his brown eyes and wondering when he’d call to offer anything more than little Mmm hmms and Yeahs to your increasingly perplexed father.

It was the moment you walked through the front door that your mobile and the universe had mercy on you. You all but scrambled up the stairs as you answered it.

“Hello?” Fuck, since when was your voice this damn breathy?

“Hey.”

Your heart and your bedroom door slammed in sync. Roy Kent was calling you.

How were you supposed to breathe, let alone talk, when a gorgeous, funny, talented, famous footballer called you up after holding your hand on the pitch?

Clearly, Roy could tell you were struggling to form words, because he went on speaking. “This is Roy.” As if you wouldn’t know that delicious growl anywhere.

“I know,” you finally managed. You collapsed on your bed. “You called fast,” you teased.

“Didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten,” he replied with a small chuckle. Why the hell did he sound nervous? You were the one living in a fantasy, lying in your room, chatting on the phone with Chelsea’s star player. For him, this was probably just a Thursday night. “I was wondering…” He cleared his throat, a low, gruff sound. “D’you want to come over? We could watch a film, have some pizza.”

You were living in the Matrix. That was it. That had to be it. There was no other explanation to why Roy fucking Kent was asking you out. Well, in. But still. How the fuck was this happening?

“Sure,” you managed, hoping he couldn’t hear how thick your voice felt. “That sounds great.” You sat up and cleared your throat, grimacing at your reflection in the mirror and trying to flatten your suddenly unruly hair. “What time?”

“Whenever.” There was that Roy Kent aloofness, almost as if he was trying to convince you he didn’t care as much as he truly did. “Just… you’re not telling your dad, right?”

There it was. The thing that was going to be perpetually hanging over whatever this thing was going to end up being. Dear Old Dad, Chelsea’s fearless leader, Roy’s boss. He’d never in a million years approve of you seeing Roy Kent. He knew what footballers were like, and he knew what Roy Kent was like. Your dad might have that heart attack he was always joking about if he got even a whiff of this conversation.

Not that you were going to let that stop you.

“Course not,” you hummed. “You’d be buried under Stamford Bridge if the old man ever found out you called.”

His chuckle echoed in your ear. “Appreciate it.”

He quickly gave you directions to his flat, and you agreed to be over in about an hour. When you hung up, you fought the urge to scream into a pillow. You were going to Roy Kent’s place. You’d be watching a movie, hanging out, with Roy Kent. Hell, you might wind up kissing Roy Kent by the end of the night.

You clambered out of bed and rushed to your closet. You’d gone on lots of dates, you reminded yourself. Dates with ridiculously good-looking guys even. Successful dates, you might add. But none with Roy Kent, the little voice in your head pointed out.

After stressing over whether or not you could even call this a date, you finally forced yourself to find a flattering pair of jeans and a light sweater. Comfortable, casual enough for a movie night, but something you knew you looked good in. A quick brush through your hair, a little lip gloss, some trainers on your feet. It was just right for a night in, and hopefully simple enough to not rouse your father’s attention.

“’m taking the car!” you shouted as you practically skipped downstairs.

“Where are you off to?” Your mother’s soft smile was a welcome sight when you were hoping to avoid your dad.

You fiddled with the strap of your purse. “Angela’s,” you blurted out, naming a friend your mother knew well. “Just having a girls’ night.”

She nodded; there was no reason to doubt you, not when your summers were always full of evenings with your friends. “Have fun.” A kiss landed on your forehead. “Be safe, alright?”

Be safe. Her words bounced around in your head as you climbed into your dad’s car, the one you usually borrowed when you were home. Be safe. Was spending time like this, alone in Roy Kent’s flat, being safe? You weren’t an innocent little dove, but you knew his reputation. You knew it well. You giggled over it with your friends, wondering if the things you read in the tabloids were true, rolling your eyes lightheartedly when the girls asked if you’d ever seen anything in the changing room.

Oh, the things they’d say if they knew what you were up to.

The drive to his building was shorter than you expected, shorter than you needed it to be with the nerves you were trying to control. Somehow, they got worse as you strolled into the building and found your way to Roy Kent’s flat. After a shake of your shoulders to try to get rid of the tension they carried, you gave a quick rap to the door.

You waited maybe two beats before you heard the knob turn. Roy Kent filled the doorway in a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt that fit him too perfectly. He smirked at the sight of you, not bothering to hide the way his eyes flickered down your body. He was less the guy on the pitch who quietly asked if he could call you and more the cocky man you’d read about in tabloids; you weren’t sure which you preferred, but you’d take either one in a heartbeat.

“C’mon in,” he hummed as he opened the door wider for you. You followed him inside, pretending you often found yourself in the flats of professional footballers. He nodded to a shelf filled with DVDs. “Pick something,” he said simply. “You want a beer?”

“Sure.” You turned your attention to the movies as you listened to his footsteps recede to what you assumed was his kitchen. He had a decent collection, you observed. A little bit of everything, and even a couple things you’d never heard of. A smile crossed your face when you caught sight of a familiar movie title.

Roy returned with a couple of beers and a box of pizza, his eyebrows raised when he saw the movie you were holding up. “When Harry Met Sally?” he read.

You nodded and accepted the bottle he handed you as well as the pizza box. “That alright? I really like this one.”

“Whatever you want, princess.” He took the case from you and nodded for you to have a seat.

Roy Kent’s couch was comfortable. It didn’t creak when you sat, not like the couches in residence halls tended to do. You put the pizza on his coffee table and opened the box, letting the delicious smell fill the room. After he turned on the television and set up the movie, Roy turned to look at you, something unreadable flickering on his face for a brief moment.

“Grab a slice,” he mumbled as he plopped down next to you. His eyes found yours, searching for a brief moment. “Thanks for coming over.”

There he was. The guy who’d laid next to you on the pitch and gently touched your hand and asked if he could call you. The guy you liked best, you decided.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you murmured, grabbing a piece of pizza before settling back into the couch. For the second time that day, you found yourself far too close to Roy Kent. Even with the whole couch to sit on, he chose to sit close to you, close enough for your arms to brush every time you took a sip of your beer.

The two of you watched the start of the movie in silence, except for a few breathy chuckles here and there when Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan were particularly funny. Thankful that the food had filled your stomach with something besides butterflies, you stole a glance at Roy. He looked comfortable, almost happy as he brought his bottle to his lips. With his eyes still on the screen, he lifted his arm and settled it behind the couch- behind you. His gazed flickered to you for a moment, eyebrows raised playfully, before he slouched into the cushions.

Was this what Roy Kent making a move looked like?

You tried to focus your attention on the movie, you really did. But you could hear his breathing and feel his side pressed against yours and your peripheral vision could see the pink in this cheeks and fuck, why did he have to smell so good?

When he leaned forward to place his beer on the coffee table, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Oh, shit, you forgot how to breathe. Especially when he kept his arm firmly there once he sat back against the cushions.

Your inability to breathe only got worse when he bowed his head and whispered in your ear, “This alright?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, feeling bold enough to turn to face him.

From this close, you could count every freckle on his face, memorize the shape of his nose and lips, see the brightness in his eyes. You could practically feel the rise and fall of his chest as he leaned forward, letting his nose brush against yours.

“This alright?”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ear, drowning out the sound of Billy Crystal singing “Surrey with the Fringe on Top” on the telly. The only thing you could think about was the tip of Roy’s nose bumping your burning skin and his lips only centimetres away from your own.

“Yes.”

Far too many nights in your dorm had been spent imagining Roy Kent’s lips on yours. But none of those dreams compared to the real thing. Because those fantasies didn’t tell you how soft his lips were, or how his hand rested on your thigh with a gentle firmness. Or how he tasted like pizza and beer and delight. Or the way his mouth parted so his tongue could gently flick against your lips before he pulled away, looking as breathless as you felt. Or, worst of all, how you knew he’d just ruined every other kiss for you.

He cleared his throat as he leaned back, his eyes roaming your face. “Well?”

“Well, what?” You knew he could see the flush on your face, but you hoped that you could hide it by acting as cool as he usually did.

“Well, are you going to let me kiss you again?” There was that cocky grin, the one you often saw on the pitch, the one that made your entire body go warm. “Or are you going to run and tell The Sun that Roy Kent is a shit kisser?”

Despite the swarm of butterflies fluttering in your chest, you laughed and rolled your eyes. “Sorry, I think I need another demonstration.”

Roy shook his head at you and cupped your face. “If you insist, princess.”

Taglist: @gee72sstuff @book-of-roses @kissykissymouth @emmy2811 @hart-kinsella @klaine-92 @dearvoidgoodnight @misshall14 @issieruby @royal-sunflower @kissmekent @veryprairieberry @itswhateveripromise

#roy kent bright baby blue #Chelsea!Roy #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

Hello,

Is there any way you could translate Samatoki's newest solo, Rinka/Blue Flame? I've been looking for a translation everywhere, but cannot seem to find one.

Best regards and thank you very much.

Oh my God I am desperate slug-san, please please pleaaasee tell me you know where to find a translation of Samatoki's Rinka/Blue Flame!! OTL I was so surprised a translator wasn't already linked in the wiki which is where I usually look first & then I couldn't find anything by searching on twitter or google or tumblr and I just really wanna know what his song is about!! T°T I can't believe I found a translation of Honobono's song but not of Samatoki's song?? I must be doing sth wrong.. Help :')

Hey slug-san! A follow-up of the Rinka/Blue Flame message. I've searched some more, and I think there's actually no translation of it so far anywhere.. T~T Would you be willing to translate it? A standard/literal translation with a lil clean-up like you did with Akuma no Hana would be totally alright!! Thank you so much for giving us the opportunity to engage with Hypmic in a way the official creators haven't made possible yet! :D <3

Sure. Under a cut for length.

I'm running at a speed faster than grief, going so fast I leave even the smallest bad feelings behind me. I spit on my dead-end future, spit in the dirty puddles. Now I'm clinging to the guardrail, tears tracing scribbled lines down my cheeks. I bet it looks pretty comical. C'mon, laugh at me, why don't you? Let's start somewhere around the unhappy ending. Why not? Works for me. The clear, blue sky waits for sunset; but to hell with that. I don't need that crap! Let's do whatever we damn well please, here in this vacant city. Just the thought of them makes me light up a cigarette. Look, I don't wanna tell people we gotta fight each other to get what we want. I just think we have to, because there's things out there that're worth keeping safe. There's a stray dog baying at the rain streaking down the glass, and that SOB won't shut up. Hey, fuck your umbrella. Who needs that kinda crap? Throw it away and let the rain drench you too. The beat's entrenched in my soul, a stupid requiem for this unfair world we live in, lying on its sickbed. C'mon, get in there and pay your respects to it. You don't have the time to sit around feeling sorry for yourself. You know lashing out's the answer, right? You'll be okay. And I'm not gonna tell you you're running from your responsibilities. So c'mon. Quit your sniveling and come ride with me. The brakes don't work; those emotions never get any slower. And we're burning ourselves out, but don't let that stop you from coming along with me for the ride. Ride with me through thick and thin. Ride with me all the way to the grave.

A few final notes:

Sunset is a metaphor for melancholy. When Samatoki rejects that in the third verse, he's rejecting sitting through his feelings of loss. He uses this image again later in the line I wrote as "sit around feeling sorry for yourself."

The gender and plurality of the "them" Samatoki thinks about isn't specified. While it's most likely referring to his family, the verse immediately afterward sounds like a direct reference to Ichirou and Samatoki battling to save their siblings in the TDD breakup.

"We're burning ourselves out" could also be written like "We're burning ourselves down to ash" which connects with the cigarette image.

Given the prevalence of stray dogs in hardboiled/yakuza fiction and their recurrence as an image in Samatoki's other raps, the stray dog should be understood to be Samatoki himself.

#hypmic translations

[propertyofwhitney67]

I want your personal whitney head cannons- like where he lives his relationships with the other li and his freinds and how he interacts with your pc-

I am honored you want my hcs for Whitney <3

General hcs

I love the idea he comes from a rich family that doesn't give a shit about him and only gives him the bare necessities to stay alive

He definitely has scars from all the fights he gets in

He's such a tsundere and is so bad at feelings

Desperately wants someone to care for him but will never voice it

We know from Vrel that some of his 'friends' actually care for him but I don't think he notices. He's so insecure and has to keep up his image that he just doesn't see it or is in denial that anyone would actually care for him

Is actually smart but doesn't give a shit about school

Used to read a lot to escape what goes on at home

now he just runs around causing chaos, drinking, and smoking

Relationships/how he feels about the other LIs

Relationship with Robin-

he doesn't like nor hate them

thinks they are beneath him

hates that PC pays their debts for them

does like their hot chocolate

Relationship with Kylar-

hates the creep

doesn't want them anywhere near PC

hell doesn't even want them to think of PC

Relationship with Pure!Sydney

Finds they annoying

hates when they manage to get marker on them for destroying a book

Shits on them for losing their virginity to a slut

but is also pissed it was his slut

just a lot of angry emotions

Relationship with Corrupt!Sydney

Still finds them annoying but in a different way

Now they have the courage to stand up to them and for PC

Is a lot angrier about them losing their virginity to PC bc Sydney rubs it in his face

Relationship with Alex

Who? Some country bumpkin, why should he care?

As long as they don't touch what isn't theirs he doesn't care

Relationship with Avery

Hates them and that PC is their sugar baby

But learns he can get money out of it and lets PC go with permission

covers you in writing and hickies so they don't get any smart ideas

Relationship with Eden

Is low key kinda scared of them but will never show it

Also hates them for taking PC and using PC without his permission

Only he can collar PC

With my PC

Loves them but hates to look weak so only shows it in private

My PC is very submissive and has high Exhibition and promiscuity so he loves that

Loves to show them off. Only look, no touching unless he says so

takes pictures of PC when they aren't paying attention

loves to be dominant but secretly would love to have slow soft sex once in a blue moon (I need to peg this man I want him crying and whimpering under me)

likes to steal buy them things he thinks they would like and lingerie he would like to see on them

Loves seeing them all dressed up for him. Only for him, not some old rich fuck.

Scared that PC doesn't actually like/love them

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

#thank you for sending this ask #made me think more about him #like how he acts #what he does #and why he is the way he is #dol #degrees of lewdity #whitney the bully #dol whitney #asks #Madison's Headcanons

[possessivedesires]

He Betrays The LOV

Yandere: Villain Izuku

Reader: hero in training

Backstory: after Izuku was crushed by his once hero idol who told him he could never be a hero, the LOV had seen him. By the time the villains had reached out to him, Izuku had already inherited OFA. But he wanted to make the heroes pay for creating a world that made his own hell growing up, becoming a double agent for the LOV. Until… he met you. But the LOV doesn’t like the new little distraction that he has…

I know... I shouldn't be getting this close. I’m here to make the hero society fall… But yet…

The room was dark, Izuku sitting at the desk while he was flipping through the scrapbook. Everything and anything about you, his beloved, his perfect little puppy. Every little detail, pictures of you, even little small trinkets that he snagged from you.

A figure appeared in his window, blue eyes narrowed with petty anger. The figure’s palms heating, his thoughts swirling of wanting to make Izuku pay for what he did the figure. But Izuku knew he was there, he could sense him. Closing the book of his beloved gently, sharp green eyes looked up at the wall. “Hello Dabi.”

“What the hell was that Izuku?” Dabi sneered, jumping into the room as Izuku stood up from the desk slowly. The air around Izuku was dangerous, any piece of his cheerful mask during the school day was gone. His hands pressing against the desk as Izuku asked, murderously calm, “Dabi… What the hell are you doing here?”

“You tried to fucking kill me! And now you’re surprised I’m here? Such a fucking idiot.” Dabi hissed venomously, almost losing his composure at seeing Izuku sharp eyes immediately looking back at his sharp turn. If this was a normal circumstance, Izuku would have felt guilty about almost attacking his teammate… But the reason he almost murdered Dabi didn’t let him feel an ounce of guilt.

“Is that why you’re here? To get revenge? Does Shigaraki know that you’re here? Being a fucking pest.” Izuku narrowed his eyes, showing no sparkle or warmth that his classmates were used to. Blue eyes narrowed, clenching his jaw. “I don’t need to be reporting everythin to that crusty asshole. But you… You fucking bastard-“

“I did what I had to.” Izuku cut him off, not scared of Dabi. Even going as far as to turn away from him, showing just how little of a threat he was to Izuku. It pissed off the pyromaniac, clenching his smoking hands. “Bullshit Zero! There was no one important around!”

Izuku tensed immediately at hearing that, feeling the shot of heat rush through his veins. Anger running this his mind, green eyes glaring at Dabi as the pyromaniac grinned at seeing his reaction. A weakness, a challenge. “You should have let me kill that fucking brat Zero.”

“No. They weren’t supposed to be there. Our only plan was to take Katsuki.” Izuku placed a hand on the surface of his desk, he was calm once more. That’s what always pissed off Dabi, how Izuku always seemed to be collected and always a step ahead. No matter what was going on… He needed to attack that weakness again… “You were the one who led them there.”

Dabi’s anger was burning hot as his flames, suddenly feeling a sharp pain on his chest. A knife digging in the wall from Izuku’s throw, his eyes narrowed and the murderous feeling made his eyes cold. Sparks of blue flames were beginning to show in his palms, wanting nothing more than to rip his throat out.

“You’ve gotten attached to a stupid pawn?” Izuku stood up straight at hearing the familiar scratchy voice behind him, his cold mask on his face. The anger of Dabi calling you no one important was gone. “Hello Shigaraki.”

“Zero.” Shigaraki responded, narrowing his eyes. The leader was annoyed with the thought of one of his best getting attached to a hero. “We’re going to pull you out now. You can’t stay here anymore, especially since you were supposed to come back after the attack at camp. But yet… You decided to stay. Now we know why.”

“Don’t even think about it, I’m not going anywhere.” Izuku turned away from Shigaraki, making the leader annoyed that Izuku felt comfortable enough to turn his back to him. “Then I’ll kill them.”

“Not happening, I won’t let them get hurt.” Shigaraki hated the fact that Izuku was easily going against him. Anger boiling under his skin, wanting to get Izuku back on his leash. Grinding his teeth in anger, digging for his phone and wanting to see Izuku listening once again. “So they’ll be the one die first instead, Bakugou can wait.”

Shigaraki was swiping his fingers through pictures of UA students, trying to figure out who it was that made Izuku want to defy him. Grinding his teeth, scratching his neck in anger. “I can’t let them be in the way… Yes, we can’t lose you… They must die.”

Black whip wrapped around Shigaraki’s wrist, giving a sharp yank and the phone crashing into the ground. Shigaraki looked up with an annoyed look, Izuku only staring coldly. “Well… That was rude Zero.”

Hopefully, I destroyed it before the message was sent. But if not… I’m taking puppy with me, far where no one can find us. Izuku thought, already planning. Immediately moving when Dabi jumped to Izuku, black whip hitting Dabi back into the wall and hearing some of the wall crack. The pyromaniac growled in annoyance, getting up and gritting his teeth.

“It’s time for you to come back, you’ve been playing hero for far too long.” Shigaraki said, crossing his arms. Izuku cracked his neck, ready to kill both of them if they even moved to the bedroom door to leave. No… I don’t… I don’t want to stop feeling things… I don’t have these feelings anywhere else, no fuzz or enjoyment. It’s only when I’m around them… I’ve grown addicted to that feeling, so why would I want to leave?

“Look Shigaraki, if it was anyone else. You and I both know that I would have killed anyone myself, we wouldn’t be here now.” Izuku explained, green lightning seeming to crackle around his hands. “Back to that stupid bitch… they’re beginning to become of a nuisance since that Bakugou kid escaped. I want them dead, I want them to die.”

“I won’t let you do that.”

“What was that?” Shigaraki asked, not liking this defiance. His eyes narrowed, fingers itching to dust Izuku. Even if it was going to go against his master’s wishes. “I won’t let you or anyone else touch a hair on them.”

“Do you want to die with them?” Dabi asked, ready to burn Izuku to a crisp. But the green eyes sparkled mockingly, grinning coldly as he stared at Shigaraki. “Do you really think AFO would want his prized son to get hurt?”

Shigaraki’s fist clenched, annoyed jealousy bubbling in his chest. Though Shigaraki’s been there longer, Izuku quickly became the favorite because of the quirk he took from Allmight. “Zero… You’re pushing your luck-“

“Actually, I don’t think I am. You can’t touch me, AFO would kill ya! And well, I think I might play a hand on it… Because after all, you did make my puppy cry.”

“Don’t you dare hurt him!” You yelled, running to throw yourself in front of your classmate. Body shaking already from the attacks you’ve endured while trying to save the other students, Dabi only laughing at how pathetic you looked. “You really think you can protect him?”

He mocked you, making Izuku narrow his eyes behind you. Izuku couldn’t help the adoring feeling he felt of seeing you trying to protect him, oh how precious you were to him. “But look at you, pathetic. You’re already crying.”

Crying… you’re crying….? He thought, feeling that dark anger quickly overtake his senses. As he moved to look at your perfect face, he could see the crystal clear tears in his eyes and felt his eyes dull with murderous intent. You were exhausted, ready to collapse, but you couldn’t let your classmate get hurt. You always did put everyone else first… “I-i won’t… I wont let you hurt him!”

Poor little thing… This is why you need me. You can’t take care of yourself puppy. Izuku thought to himself, green lightning crackling around him. Succumbing to the bloodlust filled thoughts, aiming straight for Dabi.

Your eyes widened as you watched the villain went flying back, crashing through some of the trees. Izuku moved from his kicking position, lowering his foot and glaring at him with that dangerous aura that any of the LOV knew immediately.

Dabi coughed, moving from the broken trees and his eyes narrowed at seeing the red on his hands. Standing up and walking out from the broken trees, glaring at the double agent. He was confused to see why Izuku was staring at him like a hunting staring down prey, wondering why someone from the LOV looking like he was about kill another one of the league…

“Go ahead and take a breather puppy, I’ll take care of the rest. You’ve done well, I’m so proud of you.” Izuku said with a smile, his eyes closed so you didn’t see the murdering look in his eyes. Not wanting to traumatize his pretty little pet.

“I would destroy anything that would make them cry. Anyone.” Izuku responded, calm but dangerously. Such calmness pissed off Shigaraki, wondering why Izuku felt like he could just challenge his authority like it meant nothing.

There was a soft knock on the door, all three villains looking over at the door. Izuku’s eyes narrowed, he knew who that was. How could he not? He knew everything about his puppy. “Izu? You okay in there?”

Oh your voice… It was calming for him to hear, but he didn’t want to share you or have you exposed to any danger. It worried you, not hearing anything back from the cheerful classmate of yours. “Izu? I’m coming in…”

No! He thought, not wanting Shigaraki or Dabi to see you. His foot kicking Shigaraki through the portal as he looked at Dabi with narrowed eyes. The pyromaniac grinned, licking his lips in excitement as Izuku punched him. Arms wrapping around his neck as he hopped to the window as the door opened.

Your eyes widened when you saw a hauntingly familiar villain there. It was the same villain you had nightmares about… Ever since the training camp… But it worried you more when you saw Izuku’s familiar scarred arms around his throat. Panic stuck in your throat, ducking quickly to dodge the blue flames as Izuku threw both of them out of the window. “I-Izuku!! Aizawa! Aizawa!”

“Midoriya, it’s late. You should be in bed.” Aizawa said, on edge as he finally approached the scene. Izuku was standing above the still Dabi, blood dripping from his hands as he was looking at him emotionless. “Eraserhead.”

Izuku spoke, the teacher freezing at the way Izuku’s voice seemed dangerous. This was not the student that he had known, no this was someone much more dangerous and that made the pro hero wonder about everything. Wondering how much Allmight really knew about his student… “Do you want to explain what this is all about?”

Annnnd action. Izuku’s mask came back, tears in his eyes and turning his head to look at the pro hero. Sobbing and his hands shaking, putting on the oh so perfect act of the terrified student. “I-I-i was just f-fighting… and-and-“

“Midoriya. Midoriya, breathe.” Aizawa said while grabbing the student’s shoulder, Izuku forcing his body to shake as his bloody hands were covering his mouth as if he was trying to silent his sobs. “I- I’m not… I’m not a b-b-bad guy… am-am I? I-I didn’t m-m-mean to…”

He lied smoothly, tears streaking over his cheeks and hands. Aizawa sighed, looking at the dead villain and pulling his student away from the scene. “Look, it’s not your fault Midoriya, just explain what happened.”

“I-I- I was studying… and-and then next thing I know… he-he appeared in my room! He-he wanted revenge from the tr-training ca-ca-camp.” He hiccuped, Aizawa staring at Izuku while they were walking back to the dorms. The pro hero didn’t believe him, not at the way the air felt around Izuku when he first found him… Something just didn’t add up.

“Izu!” You exclaimed, getting up from the couch when you noticed the pro hero coming back in with your classmate. You had been sitting anxiously, worried about him since you’ve seen him jump out the window with a villain.

He hummed when he felt you hug him. Pretending to be a scared student definitely had its perks if it meant that you hold him so sweetly. “Is-is this blood?”

You asked, terrified that he’s hurt. And just like that, those crocodiles tears came back. Causing your sweet touch on his cheeks as you apologized for making him cry, just letting Izuku cling onto you.

I won’t let you live Shigaraki if you do something to them, I’ll take over the LOV if I have to.

#yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere izuku midoriya

[kindnessisweakness2]

4

Emily signed the paperwork and much to the disappointment of Jax that was the last time he had seen or heard from her in a week. He didn't know what it was but his head was full of her. She was a fucking pocket rocket for sure. She handled Noah, put that crow eater in line without using her fists and shot David Hale down quicker than Clay ever had the opportunity to. He couldn't stop thinking about her and Gemma could see it. Fuck, everyone could. But Noah? God Noah felt it full force. Jax had him busting his arse more than any other prospect, and everyone could guess at why. "When are you gonna stop messing with that kid and just go see her?" Clay questioned as he made his way into the empty clubhouse. Jax shrugged from his place at the bar. He was sipping a cold beer as he sat and watched Noah clean his bike on the security cameras. Yes it was the 4th time in two days he made him do it, but in Jax's eyes it was fair. "I dont know what you mean." Clay rolled his eyes as he poured himself a whiskey. "You got the hots for this girl. Gem told me. Just go see her and let the prospect sleep for god sakes. We have a shipment coming tomorrow, i need him in good shape." It was Jax's turn to roll his eyes at his step father. Never would have guessed Clay to take a prospects side. Standing from his seat at the bar, Jax nodded at Clay and made his way out to his bike. "Pack it up prospect, I've got somewhere I gotta go." Noah stood to his feet and awkwardly twisted the oil covered rag in his hands. "Can I talk to you quickly before you go?" Jax's eyebrow raised in question. Noah seemed to be wrestling with his thoughts, trying to work out how to phrase what he wanted to say without pissing his Vice President off. "Look, I don't want you anywhere near Emily. I know your track record with women Jax And I don't want her hurt." Noah clearly threw caution to the wind and tried to be as firm as possible with Prince of Charming. Noah couldn't deny that part of him hated that Jax could have whoever and whatever he wanted. Women looked at him like he was sex on legs. Perfection, with a physique that the Gods themselves carved. But Noah didn't see the appeal. In his eyes Jax was a dick, and it wasn't like he was the only blonde haired, blue eyed boy in charming. Jax's eyes widened in Suprise at the boldness of the prospect and laughter tumbled from his mouth. Noah felt his chest burn with both embarrassment and anger at the sound. "The last person I'm gonna listen to is you, grunt. Yeah she's hurt and your the one to blame. Hey, who knows? Maybe I'll pay her a visit, make her feel better. From what I hear it's not gonna be hard to fill your shoes." Winking at the prospect, Jax put on his helmet and sped out of the lot, leaving a disgruntled Noah scowling at the reaper that addorned his back.

30 minutes riding aimlessly around Charming did nothing to clear Jax's head and sure enough he ended up in the one place he was adamant he wouldn't go. Leaning against his bike across the road from Emily's home, Jax lit a cigarette and mentally wrestled with himself. He was never this nervous about a girl before. He was the prince, Girls fell at his feet all the time. But this girl? No this girl was different. Fuck. What was he doing? He knew minimal things about this girl, so why was she all up in his brain. Not even crow eaters could distract him from the purple haired pocket rocket. "Jax?" His head snapped up, the sound of her voice halting his pacing immediately. There she stood in joggers and a cropped vest, looking worried. Her hair was down, the long purple strands dangling over her shoulder and Jax's first thought was imagining running his fingers through it. Wondering if it was as soft as it looked. "Jax is something wrong?" Emily spoke again, the concern in her voice clear. Jax found himself frowning at her. "Yeah, there is actually. I havent seen you at the clubhouse." Emily scoffed at the nerve of the man infront of her. She had seen him from her kitchen window and the sight of him pacing, chainsmoking cigarettes made her worried. Now she felt stupid for caring. "Im not a fucking Crow eater Jax. I've heard how the club treats women, thats not me." Emily turned to walk away, but his gentle hand on her arm stopped her. "Thats not what i meant Darlin'. I meant...Fuck i like having you around okay?" Emily shook her head, completely dumbfounded. "Jax you met me twice. You dont know me. Look, if this is a way to piss Noah off, fucking his ex, im not here for it. Whatever he's done, leave me out of it." Jax rubbed his face frustrated. "This isnt about Noah Em. Infact I cant stand him. This is different. Is it so hard to believe that i may actually want to get to know you? That i enjoyed the time I spent talking to you at the clubhouse the other day?" Emily smiled softly at him. "I'm not different. Jax im boring. Your wasting your time here with me. You have multiple women who would give anything to spend a night with you. Dont be stupid. Go." Jax grinned at her as she gave him a gentle shove towards his bike. Throwing his arm over her shoulder instead, Jax guided her back towards her house.

"Well arent you lucky? Tonights your night Em, Im Yours. Let me be the judge of whether your boring." Emily couldnt help but laugh at the confidence on him. It was gonna be a long night.

#jax teller x reader #sons of anarchy #jax teller #jax teller imagine #jax teller x oc #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy fanfiction

[thewallerfiles]

Prisoner Name: Rebecca Harking

Name: Rebecca Harking

Aliases: Lucky

Age: 33

Date of Birth: April 7, 1990

Sex: F

Race: Caucasian

Height: 5’9

Eye color: Blue

Hair color: Brown

Residence: Las Vegas, Nevada

Occupation: N/A (casino hopping before the time of arrest)

Special Abilities: Has the power of luck. Can also speak any situation into existence (considered highly dangerous. Approach with caution)

Notes: It should be noted that will try to use her powers whenever necessary. We have discovered that a simple counter to these powers is to have unlucky symbols on her suppression bracelet. The bracelet must be kept on at all times. 

June, 1997

“Derek’s home.”

Rebecca looked up from her reading homework. Sure enough she could see her stepdad walking up the walkway and heading to the front door of her house. “Does he look mad?”

Her brother Ryan shrugged. “He always looks mad. Ignore him if he says anything or you’ll just piss him off even more.”

Rebecca zips her mouth and throws away the imaginary key just as Derek walks in through the door. He scowls at them and tosses his jacket to the floor in the porch.

“Ugh. You’re still here?” He grumbles. He wanders into the kitchen and cracks himself a beer. “Where’s your mother?”

“We live here, stupid. And she’s at work. She took a double shift because you can’t stop spending her money that she pays the bills with.” Ryan shot his stepfather a look. “You’re still here?”

Derek took a long swig before chuckling. “You’re lucky your mom doesn’t let me smack you around. Otherwise I would. What are you looking at, goofy?”

Rebecca stiffens when Derek acknowledges her. “N-nothing. I’m just reading and doing my schoolwork.”

“Schoolwork is for sissies. People like you aren’t going to get anywhere in life working in offices or McDonald’s. Let me guess, you want to be an astronaut when you grow up?”

“You’re one to talk,” Ryan calls out from the living room. “You got a better job than mom and she still pays for everything around here. Lazy fuck-”

Rebecca covers her ears and shuts her eyes when Derek storms over and grabs her brother by the collar of his shirt. She expected to hear punches be landed but instead, opened her eyes to see them staring at each other with hatred in their eyes.

“Listen here, you little shit. Your mom and I had an agreement. She’d take care of you while I’d take care of myself-”

Ryan smacks his hand away. “Why are you even here then? Why are you even married to her if her money is all she’s good for?”

Derek backed away with a smile. “You’ll understand when you’re older, kid. A man owns a woman when they’re married. They’re your property to do as you please with them.”

Rebecca watches him go upstairs and soon hears a door close. “I hate him so much.”

Ryan sighed. “Ditto. I don’t know what mom sees in that guy. She should totally dump him.”

“I wish he was dead sometimes. Maybe he’ll fall down the stairs and break his neck one day then we’d never have to see him ever again-”

She was cut off by loud thuds coming down the stairs. For a brief moment she thought Derek had heard her and was coming down to teach her a lesson but to her surprise, that wasn’t the case. Derek did come downstairs….but just not in the way she was thinking. Both kids stared in shock as their stepfather tumbled and rolled down the stairs only to hit the bottom at a funny angle only for a sickening snap to reverberate through the small house. When Rebecca edged closer once he was still, she could see that his neck was bent in a position that it shouldn’t have been and a piece of bone was sticking out of his skin.

“Holy shit….” Ryan stumbled backwards onto the floor. “Becky, what happened?”

“I didn’t do anything! You saw me! I was here the whole time!” Rebecca cried. 

“Yeah but that was lucky. Him coming down the stairs exactly the way you hoped he would. Did you tie string at the top of the stairs again?” Ryan sighed when his sister quickly shook her head. “Are you sure? Because if mom comes home and sees him like this-”

“I swear I didn’t! I was downstairs the whole time you were home, Ry. You saw me.”

Ryan sighed and glanced at their dead stepfather at the bottom of the stairs. “Mom doesn’t need to know about this. Got it? We hide the body and if she asks where he is, we say he left-”

“But his truck’s in the driveway….”

“Shit,” Ryan looked out the window. “You’re right. Look….you keep doing your homework and act like nothing happened. I’ll take care of this mess before mom comes home at 9. Can you keep a secret?”

Rebecca nodded and watched as her brother began dragging Derek’s body away from the stairs and towards the back door. When both Ryan and the old fart were out of sight, she smiled and hummed happily as she finished her book report.

December 24, 2013

“Come on, dude! It’s Christmas! A little extra wouldn’t hurt for the holidays!”

Rebecca, 23, looked her boss in the eyes and pleaded for a small bonus. Money was scarce this year and the car dealership that she worked for didn’t see as much business as usual anymore. Everyone wanted newer, better models to ride around in. Even the ones looking for secondhand (the ones that her boss sold) weren’t worth the money that he was selling them for. She had bills to pay. Mouths to feed.

“Becky Doll, I told you at the beginning of the month. I ain’t got much money left in the business. I gotta pay you and the ones that work the lot. Utilities. Other things. I can’t afford to give you a Christmas bonus this year.”

Rebecca eyeballed the big black vault in his office when he wasn’t looking. “I understand. I thought I’d try anyway. My brother is sick again and his hospital bills are piling up. But I get it. Thank you anyway though. Merry Christmas.”

Walking herself out to the bus stop, Rebecca took a seat on the bench. She knew the money excuse was bullshit. She’d seen her boss laundering cash before and even saw how much money he had hidden away in his stupid vault. No one hated him as much as she did and she secretly hoped that karma would bite him on the ass one day.

The bus was late. Rebecca pulled out her phone to check the time right when someone ran by and slipped on ice, dropping a bag in front of her. Before she could say anything, they got up and continued to run away. The bag was staring her in the face and curiosity was getting the better of her. So she picked it up and peeked inside. She nearly died of a heart attack at the bus stop.

Piles and piles of cash. All hundreds from the look of it. Rebecca had to hold back a scream of surprise as she looked down at this gift that the universe gave to her. This looked like enough money to pay off her own bills as well as her brother’s. And they’d still be able to live comfortably for the next while.

“Hey! Hey you!”

Hearing a voice, she quickly zipped up the bag and hid it inside her winter coat. Thankfully it was big enough to make it look like that was part of the design just in time as a police officer approached her, breathing heavily and seemingly tired from running.

“Ma’am, did you see someone run by here carrying a bag of sorts? Black jacket, wool hat. They just stole money from Wheeler’s Wheels just up the road and we got called in to get a jump on the guy,” the officer inhaled a deep breath before continuing. “Yeah….yeah. I can’t keep up. But have you seen him run by?”

Rebecca shook her head. “No officer. I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes by myself waiting for the bus. It’s late tonight, probably due to it being Christmas Eve. But no one ran by. Was anyone hurt?”

The cop shook his head. “Thankfully, no. But if you see anything suspicious tonight, please don’t hesitate to call us. Theft on Christmas Eve is the lowest form of crime, in my opinion.”

“So you’re okay with murder….”

“Pardon? Did you say something ma’am?”

“No, officer. Just can’t believe someone would do something like this. So disgusting….”

The officer sighed. “Well. I’ll have to tell my partner that they got away with no witnesses. That should be nice to write up in the report….you have yourself a nice Christmas, ma’am. Be safe out there.”

The bus arrived shortly after the officer left, and Rebecca couldn’t wait to get back to Ryan and tell him what happened. When it arrived at her stop, she raced into the apartment building they lived in and rushed upstairs to their place. When she burst inside with a huge smirk on her face, her brother sat up on the couch, looking confused.

“Becks….what did you do this time?” He asked through a cough.

“I didn’t do anything this time. Well….that’s kind of a lie. I silently hoped my boss would get some long overdue karma and he got exactly that tonight.” She dumped the contents of the bag on the table between them. “There’s thousands here, Ry. I can pay your bills off completely.”

Ryan sighed. “Did you do the thing?”

“....what thing?”

“You know. That weird thing where you speak something into existence. You know. You’ve done it a thousand times before.”

Rebecca snorted. “I thought you’d be happy. I can get you your medicine with this and pay off the hospital. Maybe even treat us to a little something. But to answer your question, no. I didn’t do the thing. At least not out loud.”

Ryan shot her a look. “Not out loud? Since when could you do it silently? Is this new?”

“I don’t fucking know, Ryan. I don’t even know how it works. I don’t even know where I got this power from. I’m just lucky I suppose-” She paused for a moment. “Lucky. I’m Lucky.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Oh no. Please don’t tell me that you’re going to do this again, Becky. You’ll get caught eventually.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Rebecca pecked her brother on the cheek. “Now come on. Let’s get some of that expensive Chinese food that you love so much. My treat.”

August 12, 2020

The following is a transcript of an interview taken with two agents and the prisoner Rebecca Harking, aka Lucky. This is a part of the quarterly interviews that take place to recruit new candidates for Amanda Waller’s “Suicide Squad”. Please note that Harking’s suppression bracelet is activated for this interview as well as during her sentence at Belle Reve for the safety of herself and others. But mainly others.

Agent Shaw: Are we recording?

Agent Bellend: Yup. You can start

Agent Shaw: Alright. Hello, Rebecca. I’m Agent Shaw and this is my partner Agent Shaw. How are you doing today?

Rebecca: Spare me the bullshit, Shaw. This isn’t my first rodeo. Just do what you gotta do so I can go back to my cell

Agent Shaw: Wow, okay. Uh, so you know why you’re here today I’m presuming. To get screened for-

Rebecca: Yeah, yeah. I know. Screened for the stupid Suicide Squad. I know all about that merry band of assholes. Let me guess, the other crew are dead?

Agent Shaw: Some are, yes. But not all of them. Waller is looking for new recruits for a new mission in the future. For the time being, she wants to seek out potential candidates

Rebecca: Interesting. And she thinks my skill set has potential?

Agent Bellend: She doesn’t think. She knows

Rebecca: But do you know, Agents? Have you read my file before coming in today?

Agent Shaw; We did. It’s….impressive, to say the least

Agent Bellend: Can you really manipulate luck? Influence how things work out for you?

Agent Shaw: Bellend-

Agent Bellend: What? I’m curious. I could use a bit of luck in my life like that….

Rebecca: Would you like to find out, Bellend? Take this bracelet off me and find out

Agent Shaw: Nice try, Harking. You know that’s on you for a reason. Now back to our interview. You know you’re in here for a screening. If you were given the chance to join Waller’s team for some years to be taken off your sentence, would you do it?

Rebecca: For a shorter sentence? Maybe. Would I only just get thrown back in here if I commit the same crimes once I’m out anyway?

Agent Bellend: Uh….we’ll get back to you on that. But a shorter sentence is better than 50 years, isn’t it?

Rebecca: Hmm. As long as I don’t have to work with that weird shark guy. He gives me the creeps. All sharks do actually. Have you seen Jaws? I heard that they watched it over in the men’s cells and he laughed at it. Thought it was hilarious

Agent Bellend: Focus, Rebecca. Please. Next question. Have you ever used your abilities for your own personal gain?

Rebecca: [laughs] Would I be in here if I didn’t? Of course I did. I lived in fucking Vegas before I was caught and thrown in here. I’m no saint

Agent Shaw: Have you ever manipulated others?

Rebecca: Yes

Agent Shaw: Have you ever used your powers on your brother?

Rebecca: ….don’t bring him up

Agent Shaw: I don’t see why we can’t. It’s right there on your file. It says you killed him-

Rebecca: I SAID DON’T TALK ABOUT HIM!

Agent Bellend: Why did you do it though? 

Rebecca: It was….stupid. We had an argument and I let my emotions get the better of me. I told him to drop dead and he….he did. It was a mistake that I wish I could go back and change

Agent Shaw: You didn’t mean to kill him

Rebecca: Fuck no. I loved my brother. He protected me our whole lives. The least I could do to pay him back was use my powers to make our life easier. Jobs weren’t paying what I felt we deserved. So I took to the casinos where I knew I could use them to my full advantage

Agent Shaw: And was he okay with this?

Rebecca: Not at first, no. But I promised him it wouldn’t be a daily thing and he agreed to that. But I became addicted to winning and eventually people at the casinos caught on. Once I was banned, that’s when my brother got angry. Called me reckless. I told him that it was my powers that kept a roof over our heads. Put food on the table. He didn’t like that. So he began to yell at me some more and before I could control my words, I said the thing to him. Next thing I know, he’s on the floor. Dead

Agent Bellend: And then you got arrested?

Rebecca: I turned myself in, you mean. I might be a thief but I’m no monster. I know what I did was wrong and I couldn’t live with the guilt. If you accidentally killed your brother, you would’ve done the same thing

Agent Shaw: You turned yourself in instead of going on the run? You could’ve easily avoided authorities with what you’re capable of

Rebecca: Like I said. I’m no monster, Agent Shaw

Voice on overhead speaker: Don’t be fooled by her, Agents. She murdered her brother with a kitchen knife and ran with the money. Her powers don’t work when she’s asleep. That’s her only flaw

Rebecca: What the fuck, man?! They were totally falling for my story!

Agent Bellend: I almost felt bad for her too….

Agent Shaw: This wasn’t mentioned in her file, Waller

Voice on overhead speaker: Typos happen. I’ll be sure to add it to her file once this interview is over since I finally got her to admit to it

Rebecca: What? You tricked me!

Voice on overhead speaker: You’re the only one that can fool people, Harking. Now wrap this up gentlemen. I got everything I needed here today

Agent Shaw: Uh, sure. No problem. Wrap this up, Bellend. Did you get all that on the tape?

Agent Bellend: Yeah I got it. Didn’t realize this was a confession tape we were doing today

Agent Shaw: I’m sure that’s not the strangest thing we’ll record while we’re here. Agent Shaw and Bellend signing off. Session one ended

#the waller files #dc #writing #fiction

[greenflamedwriter]

Be careful who you badmouth! PART ONE

Shen Yuan transmirgrated into the worst stallion novel ever. And it was at the end! There were NO cultivation sects- the realms were merged demons running rampant and all the lower class and poor were getting killed by monsters feeding on them! Shen Yuan who took over a rebel cultivator realised he was so fucked if he was caught. He would get the scum villains stick ending if he wasn't careful. He immedietly abandoned the role of the body he was taking, some canon fodder trying to over-throw Luo Binghe? Was this guy insane!

He planned on running away from this rat tag group and just decided to observe the beasts and flora of this realm! He can explore in this open map to his hearts content!

Before he began to be ropped into helping others, then it happened again and again.

They gave him food! A man has to eat! And he was able to fill his beastiary of all that he found. Even with information that he learned through Luo Binghe's adventures.

On one night hunt, he came across another cultivator.

He calls himself Tianmo Yincang. Shen Yuan helps him out after the other cultivator almost gets beaten up by the beast. Shen Yuan takes the injured young man to an inn and feeds him.

"Whats a young kid like you doing outside fighting beasts like that? It's dangerous- and cultivating is illegal! You could be in serious trouble."

Tianmo smirked "I could say the same about you." [Tianmo Yincang means Heavenly demon hidden. but if anyone thinks of a better name let me know]

Ugh this brat, Shen Yuans eye twitched.

"I don't cultivate for myself. I just want to explore demonic beasts, but a mortal wouldn't survive the study." Shen Yuan pouts he gasps as the other sits up "Careful- you took a beating, another days bed rest and you should be fine." The man stared at him, and Shen Yuan gulped feeling as if he was looked right through.

"Thank you for the assistence, stranger." Shen Yuan smiled unsure "You can call me Shen Yuan." The other smiled "Shen Yuan."

This kid was really unnerving.

Shen Yuan leaned back scratching his head "I don't suppose you were with a group huh? I know the village pay rogue cultivators to dispose of any problems but big groups will cause a problem."

The other watched him warily.

"Why is that?"

"Well Lord Luo Binghe outlawed Cultivation." Shen Yuan was inturupted by a knock on the door "Ah-" He stood up to leave, unaware of the crimson eyes watching his every move.

He thanked the lady who brought a tray of food and sent her on her way.

"Here we go." He placed the tray down, hovering over his charge.

The other watched the food warily, Shen Yuan blinked confused before realising.

This was a cut throat novel of course this young man was wary!

"Ah hold on," Shen Yuan took a small plate and took a view pieces of food from each bowl and took a taste test.

"Welp- I don't taste anything strange- so it should be fine?" He wondered outloud, he moved to his own bowl and decided to eat ignoring the others stare.

"Why did you want to see the beasts?" The other asked still not touching his food. Probably waiting for Shen Yuan to drop dead possibly.

"Well they're fascinating. I plan on finding the Blue billed duck, or even the Ice flame phoenix. The Blue bill speicies have different coloured bills and they only mate with ones of the same colour?" Shen Yuan spoke with his chopsticks before eating forgetting his manners entierly.

"After this I heard there was a water ghoul disrupting farmers and their ponds. I plan on going there next to see if thats the case or just a rumour, did Young Master have anywhere to go after this?"

The other began to slowly eating his food once it was clear Shen Yuan was fine.

"I was only told of this one beast, I never knew there was another?"

"Oh there's thousands. I'm surprised the humans haven't been wiped out yet. Most are ignorant of beasts- most are friendly they only respond when they're attacked while others lure in victims and eat them. Most mortals don't know ever since since the realms merged it's been a fight to survive everyday."

"Why not ask Lord Luo Binghe for help?"

"I think they have? I don't know if they did or did not…or maybe others think he has other things to deal with." Shen Yuan shrugged finishing his bowl.

"Thats enough for tonight, you should rest up. Would there be anyone looking for you, other cultivators I could let the innkeeper know?"

"No, it's just me."

Shen Yuan paused and looked back at his temporary charge. He was so young and he had no one.

He pressed his lips together "I'll be in the other room…."

As they both sat before the fire after that life and death experence the young man before him spoke.

"Do you hate Lord Luo Binghe?"

Shen Yuan looked up surprised. Truthfully, it was better not to bad mouth the current overlord. Others could be spies and report to Luo Binghe for a mutiny.

Shen Yuan placed a hand to his mouth "Hmm, it depends." he shrugged and began poking the fire.

"Would you wish someone else was in charge instead of Lord Luo Binghe, if we overthrow him-"

Oh no that was dangerous talk especially from a kid so young- ah stop raising death flags young cannon fodder please!

"Stop that nonsense right now." It was the first time Shen Yuan was angry at his young charge his glare hardening.

"Overthrowing Lord Luo Binghe is suicide and is better to put such thoughts to rest." The boy blinked his own eyes narrowing, "But if you could though- how would you do it."

Shen Yuan eyebrow twitched. His tone irritated, he wanted this kid to get this through his thick skull that no one can beat the protagonist.

"Fine, here's what I'll do." He took a drink then placed the water pouch down.

"Our Lord has one weakness, I would use this weakness by asking for an audience with our Lord with a women who I'd hired to assist me. This women would instead be a man in disguise once the Lord is alone with her and she utilizes this weakness once his guard is down she'll kill him." Shen Yuan spoke but continued "And then I take over his kingdom for say about five minutes. Then I would be brutally murdered by his harem of wives full of assasins, cultivators and demons alike, if not them then I would have to compete with Strong demon Lords who were waiting for this chance to take over the entire realm. Imagine someline like Mobei Juns uncle being taking over the throne? Luo Binghe's rein would've looked pleasent compared to the utter nightmare we'll be put through with the ruthless demon lords- Humans would be enslaved to be feed to demons who eat us, the human collatoral alone as demons and humans would fight out in the open for territory. But those won't be the worst contestors no- it would be demonic cultivators, the same ones that use Mortals as Human Cauldrons having someone like that in charge of the realm." Shen Yuan shook his head.

"A power vacum. Having so many contend for the throne the casualities would be enormous. No, Lord Luo Binghe may be a bit unrefined in some corners, but he thought for that Throne and earned it and has at least some amount of mercy. Although…Unless you were one of his wives or children not many peoples lives are perfect. But at least they're alive. With him gone our situation will only go from bad to worse." Shen Yuan shook his head.

The young mans eyes stared unblinking at him and Shen Yuan became unnerved "Hmm? What is it?"

"If you're afraid of Lord Luo Binghe you don't need to hide behind such weak excuses."

Weak excuses! It was the truth!? Without Luo Binghe their world will fall into chaos because he's the protagonist!

"Tell me what his weakness is- I know thousands of men and women who want to overthrow this Lord a weakness such as that would surely."

"No."

Shen Yuan closed his eyes with a sigh.

"I may have made a mistake in telling you, Lord Luo Binghe may have a weakness, but he'll never die. And if you plan on torturing me for it then I'm afraid to disapoint you. Tell those men to let it go, it's hopeless and even this weakness wouldn't be enough to stop Luo Binghe."

The Man blinked then smiled his eyes softening "You give Lord Luo Binghe too much credit. He's not a god."

Shen Yuan shrugged "No, unfortunatly he's a man. If Lord Luo Binghe came before us here I wouldn't be surprised to be punished for treason. It is what is is." He shrugged shifting in his seat.

The young man looked unsure as he glanced at the fire then back at Shen Yuan.

"What if you could talk to him, tell him everything thats wrong and how he should fix it?"

Shen Yuan finally relaxed, this he could talk about. "Well," he chuckled "If he was open to the suggestion and wouldn't hack of my limbs for impertinence, then I would suggest return cultivation sects to the mortals. It would help moral and turn their ire away if he gave them a fighting chance to defend themselves. If it was superviosry offices instead and he put his wives in charge and stationed them around his kingdom they could double act as a cultivation sect but also have his men and women stationed in areas he could control. Imagine pledging to Lord Luo Binghe? Most will trip over themselves to have their children educated. Most would prefer that than the other option of selling their children to slavery. Cultivation saved lives once, kids who were starving or wanted to protect others or themselves. There are loads of people in Luo Binghe's position who don't have the same options as he did. It's like being in a well and climbing out and pulling out the rope and leaving the others alone in that hole with no way out. What benefited Binghe he took that experience away from others…he's slowly becoming like the cultivation masters who abused him. Crippling others just so they won't be stronger than him."

The fire suddenly erupted and Shen Yuan yelped his robes catching alight "Ah- shit!" He gasped falling back instantly slapping at the flame.

"Yuan-ge!" The man gasped out horrified eyes wide in surprise Shen Yuan laughed "Well that was weird aha! Maybe Lord Binghe is cursing me." he snickered. Well that was a bad omen and an ominious death flag.

Welp, he's not going to have long to live.

The young man sat down, fire lighting his eyes.

"If you could meet Lord Luo Binghe and he accepted your proposal what then?" Shen Yuan looked up surprised.

This young man…he worried for him. But then again he could be a servant of Lord Binghe- alas. Being a rogue cultivator in a world that outlawed cultivation of course he wasn't going to last long.

Shen Yuan mumbled to himself "…Well I hope it's not a human stick-"

"Hmm?"

"If I could say anything to him, and he humoured me. I would mostly ask about his adventures." Shen Yuan smiled wistfully, thinking on the book PIDW.

"I always liked hearing stories about him, he's just so cool, y'know. Even if he decided to merge the realm because of paper work being too excesive," Shen Yuan laughed "No matter what life threw at him he always perceviered, he was so smart and clever but also strong- even before his heavenly demon blood was unsealed. As a disciple he beat Elder Hammer at just fifteen." Shen Yuan gushed then sighed "It's just a shame, that no one realised his potential. If he had anyone there for him he wouldn't be struggling. Lord Luo Binghe isn't failing his people from a lack of bad leadership. It's his lack of allies. Our Lord can't be everywhere and once and hold our hands. If he had more men he could trust others to aid him then it would'nt be so bad. Which is why I suggest his wives and children to take over the offices they would want to please him and it would probably stop his harem infighting if they had a goal- lets see who can be better at holding the peace in the area our Lord gave us!" He said with a nod.

Unaware how his audience latched onto every word.

"Yuan-ge?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you really not tell me this- Lord Luo Binghe's weakness even under torture?"

Shen Yuan stiffened feeling goosebumps. He really made a mistake. He was fucked. So heavenly fucked.

"Yes. The only one who should know is Luo Binghe himself."

That caught the others interest "So even our Lord doesn't know this?"

Shit!

"Well- lets just says he's experienced it alot that he doesn't see it as a weakness-"

"Like a poison?"

Shen Yuan shook his head "No, he's immune to poisons."

"But he's not immune to everything." Shen Yuan stood up. "Goodnight, put out the fire once you're done." "Ah- Yuan-ge? Was it something I said." shen Yuan turned around.

"Forget about Lord Luo Binghe. Pretend I said nothing."

…

Of course right after that they began to continue their night hunts. Even if this man was a spy of Luo Binghe. Shen Yuan found he didn't mind. His bestiary was almost finished he even showed the younger man.

"whats this for?"

"Well I was thinking of selling this to a publisher to help the locals defend themselves. It only says how to nuetralize, most of these beasts do have properties thats good for cultivation but I had to censor that. Didn't want Rogue cultivators getting the wrong idea…Lord Binghe wouldn't allow that."

The Young man took the bestiary and flipped through his eyes furrowed "So this is censored?"

"To the best of my ability there is no information on cultivation. So it doesn't break any laws." Shen Yuan nodded, it killed him.

"I have a second book here," he said reaching into his quirkan pouch and retrieved it.

"This is everything I have on papa- I mean everything else."

He missed the narrowed eyed stare from the man who took it out his hands.

he flipped through his eyes narrowing further "This is just flowers?" Shen Yuan looked away "Mmm-hmm."

The other paused then he smirked "Dual cultivation? I hadn't know you were so well versed in this. Had much experience?"

…He was teasing him.

Shen Yuan scowled "As if- do I look like I have anyone to partner with- as if. I only researched these flowers so I wouldn't run into them."

"Hmm what about me? Don't you make a habit of helping strangers and partnering up with fellow cultivators?" What's with this questioning?

"You're the only one thats stuck around long enough. Like a leach. If you want to go you can leave." Shen Yuan snatched his book back and began to walk away.

"A-Yuan!" The other whined running up to him "Don't leave me!"

"Who are you calling A-yuan! I'm your elder!"

"You're not that much older than me."

"Disrepctful. Of course I find you younger if you start acting like a brat."

"A-yuan! I didn't mean to upset you-"

"Enough people are staring…"

Once they dealt with the monster thats when this young master was hit with the sex pollen.

"shen Yuan-" He shoved the cultivator out the way and took thr brunt of the sex pollen. SHIT it was the potent stuff too!

Covering his mouth he grabbed Tiangmo and flew away on his rented sword after moving to a stream he began to remove the clothes that was covered in the sex pollen and drew up an array to dissuade others from getting closer including demons and other beasts.

"Shen Yuan," The other moaned his face flushed. Shen Yuan placed his hand to his forehead "You're burning up."

Tiangmo Yincang grasped his hand his eyes half-lidded "I know how to fix this, Yuan-ge can you help me? I might die-"

"You're not going to die. And how could I help you? I'm a man do you see me carrying a little sister in my pocket? my Quirkan pouch."

If he was riddled with this burning heat, Tiangmo would've laughed. This man was so strange-

"These papapa flowers always leave people vunerable." He scowled ripping into his pouch.

Tinagmo Yingcang sat up his hand out stretching and grabbing Shen Yuans robes.

The other paused "What are you doing…?"

"There's only one cure for these things," He began to slowly disrobe the other "Dual cultivation, it's the only way-"

He felt the sting of the slap against his face and his head snapped to the side. It was enough to bring lucidity.

"Do I LOOK like a maiden to you!? Enough. You're not going to die and we're not going to dual cultivate!" Shen Yuans voice cracked immedietly digging into his pouch with vigor.

He brought out a tailsman and slammed it against Tiangmo's chest activating it and then produced a vial.

"Drink this. Now." Tinagmo Yingcang was dazed he was also distracted by the furious blush on Shen Yuans face he took the vial and drank it.

he…he could feel his body begin to lose it's heat.

"What…what is this?"

Shen Yuan sighed he moved to the river and soaked a cloth, while moving back he began to clean Tiangmo's face.

"Not many of us are lucky to dual cultivate. So with some trial and error I looked for less potent flowers to experiment with. After much trial and error I figured out a remedy for Papapa flowers."

Tiangmo eyes furrowed "papapa? I never heard of these flowers?"

Shen Yuan coughed "It's just what I call them, flowers that require dual cultivation as the cure."

The other looked down at the tailsman on his chest.

"I think if you gave this to Luo Binghe he would reward you ten-fold." Shen Yuan laughed.

"If he ever tries to punish me for rogue culitvation, I'll use this to bargain aha."

Shen Yuan began to love going on night hunts with Tiangmo, he was very reliable! He even taught him everything he knew- which was how he knew from Luo Binghe.

"Shen Yuan is smart, how did he find this out?"

"Well- stories about Luo Binghe traveled so I double checked myself,"

"If Cultivation came back…would you be a teacher?" Shen Yuans eyes widened "What?" He gaped surprised him? A teacher?

"Ah, I think I would be terrible…cultivating is about forms and meridians and there's tons of things I don't know. Like Waterborne abyss or a Night Forest Abyss- man I'm terrified to encounter one of those I wouldn't know how to get out…"

Shen Yuan sighed "How can I teach when I'm just as ignorant."

"…Then- can I be your disciple?"

…

…

"huh?"

"Can I call you Shizun?"

Shen Yuan blinked, no- no way.

"I couldn't-"

"If Cultivation wasn't illegal could I be your disciple?"

Shen Yuan wavered "I doubt there's anything I could teach you." He smiled patting the young man on the head "You would only be wasting your time with this old man."

"I wouldn't! I would gladly follow Shizun! he's smart and looks after others. I would be proud to be his disciple."

Shen Yuan flinched "Shh- don't let others overhear you!"

"Are you ashamed?" The others eyes began to water and Shen Yuan felt even more worse "No, no- it's still outlawed I don't want you to get in trouble."

Now Tiangmo Yincang looked resentful "Was it really so bad to outlaw Cultivation?"

Ah damage control.

"Tinagmo Yingcang it's fine- there's nothing we can do about it."

"Then lets go to Luo Binghe- request an audiance! Then I can be your disciple!" Shen Yuan shivered.

"No- no way."

"Why? Is me being your disciple so horrible?"

"It's because I'm scared alright!" He grabbed the young mans shoulders "There's a slight chance Luo Binghe would be benevolant and would bring back Cultivation and the sects and we can all have a happily ever after, but there's also the chance that he'll turn us into human sticks or feed us to fire ants! The chance is too risky! And there's no point arguing about it. Promise me you'll drop this."

Tiangmo blinked his eyes wide "I…I thought you liked Luo Binghe. You respected him." He sounded so lost and Shen Yuan faltered and let him go, with a sigh.

"Of course I do. But I don't know what he's thinking half the time or why he does hate cultivation sects so much? Why does he hate men and trusts women- it's just too risky…" Shen Yuan looked away. Honestly this young man was giving him heart attacks left right and centre.

Stop raising death flags young man! You're too young to die!

"You're scared of Our Lord that much?"

"Yeah he's terrfying, Who wouldn't be afraid? and I'm a man. If I was a women then at least I'd know the worst thing is to end up as his wife." And take that heavenly pillar, he shivered.

"I'm sure Lord Luo Binghe won't hurt you. If he knew about you he would probably see you have valuble insight."

Shen Yuan looked at him, there was no use wasting his time.

Tiangmo is going to be roped into one of those rebel Cultivator groups.

"Listen Tiangmo, there are rebel groups who are against Luo Binghe." This caught Tiangmo's attention.

"You can decide now what you want to do. If you hate Luo Binghe that much I can't do anything about it…" Shen Yuan looked away "Or, you can come with me. We'll continue taking odd jobs and help the locals and continue our beastiary-" Whoops he said 'our'

"You can call me Shizun in private if you want." He scratched his cheek feeling them warm up. Being called Shizun would be weird and embarrising.

"…Does Shizun know where the rebel cultivators are?"

Shen Yuan blinked, then pursued his lips. When he woke up he was the Rebel leader before he walked away realising how stupid that was.

"I did used to know them…before I realised how much of a lost cause it was and decided to put my efforts else where. I cut ties, I don't know where they could be…" He looked up.

"The only thing I do know, was that they met in brothels, you'd assume their buisness was pleasure but it was a meeting ground." That's where he found himself during a big speech. He had all these young men staring at him and he had no idea where or who he was.

He looked to the closest guy beside him as the others yelled "Down with the demon half-breed! Down with Lord Luo Binghe." After hearing that he realised how much he was flirting with death.

He turned to- whom he was assuming was his right hand man and patted his shoulder "You're in charge." And ran away.

Tinagmo nodded "Okay."

…What?

"Shen Yuan you can't live like this- you wouldn't even fight Lord Luo Binghe and tell him your demands you would rather hide with your tail between your legs."

owch that hurt. Shen Yuan's eyes narrowed "have you met any man who asked to bring back cultivation Sects? After what happened to Shen Qingqiu? And you tell me why I'm afraid?"

Tinagmo Yingcangs eyes widened taking a step back.

"Come on, lets go." Shen Yuan nodded looking away he felt raw and wanted to forget this converstation.

"I heard something happened in Hualing city, we could go check it out…Tiangmo Yingcang?"

The other looked sullen.

"I think, I should find the rebels, Shen Yuan."

Shen Yuans eyes widened, he could walk away. But he felt something else bone-chilling fear.

"Tiangmo- be reasonable."

"I've made up my mind. I wanted to find the rebels first and join them. I heard you were their leader who was laying low." Shen Yuan sighed.

"I've given that up- those rebels should and so should you, it's pointless Tiangmo Yingcang there's no need to throw away you're life for this. Lord Luo Binghe isn't our enemy."

The young man shook his head "A beast like him only responds to violence. We should fight-"

"He's a heavenly demon! Tiangmo you're talking nonsense-"

"Shizun you won't be afraid anymore." Tiangmo drew his sword and flew away before Shen Yuan could stop him.

"Tiangmo- STOP!" He cried out mounting his own sword but it didn't matter…he was gone…

Shen Yuan found an inn, but he was barely paying attention as he collapsed onto the bed. His mind abuzz with static.

He made a mistake.

He made a mistake keeping Tiangmo along, he made a mistake letting him go- why did he tell him where the rebels were.

He could picture it, the group deciding to start their siege and be slaughtered. Luo Binghe would never hear them only see them as a threat.

And Tiangmo-

Tiangmo's broken body appeared before his mind, dead sliced down by Xin mo his eyes wide in surprise.

Shen Yuans mouth wobbled his eyes stinging with tears as he curled up in a ball in his bed.

This was a novel- he wasn't real. So his death is meaningless…it didn't mean anything. So why- why couldn't he stop crying.

…Tiangmo's absence was obvious. He could barely focus or even have any excitment for the beasts and demons he defeated. Even the money he had he found himself giving most of it away. He was robbed and he barely cared.

Even the food was bland…although he immedietly understood the others worry as he was poisoned and woke up with a high fever and his rented sword and quirken pouches were stolen.

At least his beastiarys were protected. So much arrays and protections so his books couldn't leave two feet of his person. Or even get damaged.

Months passed and he found himself unable to eat or sleep. Even with Enedia wasn't enough to show how guant he was looking.

He could've been happy with Tiangmo Yingcang. Both surviving and passing aimlessly hunting beasts and looking up fuana.

He just doomed a young man to death…although- Jiangmo was struggling with a beast so maybe he just bought him some time.

Why did he get attatched? Why did he influence him to be anti-Binghe.

Shen Yuan scrubbed his face.

"Hey you!" He turned and blanched.

A women in red clothes that was practically scandoulous and another with a veil on her face. It was obvious who these two were.

Shen Yuan grabbed his stuff and his new rental sword and ran out the window.

"Get back here!"

"Stop him!"

Of course, being pursued by Luo Binghe's wives after years of silence meant one thing.

He was dead. Welp this was fun while it lasted, thank you PIDW for giving back some thing back. He loved PIDW for the demons and monsters and he got that in spades. He should be happy.

_____________________________________________________________

Next: Chapter Two

#Luo Binghe #luo #binghe #svsss #SVSSS #Scumbag #shen qingqiu #scumbag system #Scum villain #scum #Shen #Qigqiu #Yuan #svsss fanfiction #svsss donghua #svsss system #svsss ideas

[indecentpause]

Find the Word Tag

tagged by @catchingbigfish to find extend, freeze, song, table, and run. thank!

cw: homophobia, mentions of violence, suggestive

from The Black & Blues

extend stretch:

You try to keep careful enough distance. Your leg is pressed up tight against his, but you can excuse that with the lack of space. Eventually you start to feel like you’re being crushed, so you move your arm onto the seat behind him, and you can excuse that with needing to stretch your arm out.

You talk, low and soft, heads bowed into each other, hidden in plain sight among the chatter on the bus. Closer, closer, you keep getting closer into each others’ space, and you know what, fuck it. You’ve been living in fear your whole life. You’re not going to kiss him here, but you’re also not going to let yourself be scared into distancing yourself from a man you really, really like.

freeze:

“You’re sure you’re okay? You’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” you manage to choke out. “It’s just. I only recently started coming out to people on purpose. Like, the past four months recently. And. And I never thought I’d find someone who liked me enough, who I liked enough, who would want to… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He kisses each corner of your mouth and then playfully nips at your nose. Finally, you laugh and your body starts to relax. “I’m lucky that I grew up with an awesome mom. Not everyone has that opportunity. I can’t say I understand, but I know what it’s like to be in a homophobic place with support. Without support it must be even harder.”

“Yeah,” you say. A pause. “You have really nice hips,” you continue, a little stupidly. He laughs and smiles brightly and rests his forehead against yours again. It’s such a simple but intimate gesture. It relaxes you immediately. The tension starts to seep out of your shoulders and back, and you feel comfortable enough to gently rub your thumb over the skin of his hip peeking out from his jeans. It’s an absentminded motion, not intended to mean or do anything. But Josselin lets out a heavy, shaky breath, and you realize exactly where you’re touching him, and you freeze. You’re about to start to panic again when Josselin says, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

song:

You’re a little off beat in the beginning, but once you’ve warmed up, you fall into the familiar movements, the chords and notes of your guitar and your voice, and god, it feels so good. This is what you needed after this shit day.

In your little after practice circle, Danny says, “Okay. So, I thought Jaisyn knew someone who does mixing and mastering, but he’s actually doing the mixing himself and then sending it off to someone else to master. I know we usually trade favors with him as payment, but this is such a huge task, it’s only right we pay him with actual money for this one. I’m working out the cost, but generally for other services it costs minimum $100 per song.”

“Oof,” Josephine says. “So for the full album it would be–”

“Minimum $1200, yeah. I don’t know if Jaisyn will accept it from us, but he deserves some compensation. It can take anywhere from thirty minutes to four hours per song. So he’s putting in a lot of work for us.”

table:

Then, one morning, soon after you get home and before you fall asleep, someone comes knocking at the door. You figure it’s the landlord coming to collect the rent, but are pleasantly surprised when it’s Josselin carrying a bakery box.

“Hey!” he says. “I know your sleep schedule is really screwed up but. I really miss you.”

You invite him in and point at the table you dumpstered. It’s just a little scuffed, but other than that it’s perfectly serviceable, so you don’t know why someone would throw it out. But their trash is your treasure, apparently.

“You can put it there? Sorry, we’re still working on the furniture situation.”

He puts the box down and wraps his arms around you, hands splaying out over your back.

“I missed you, too,” you say. “God, I missed you. Thank you for being so understanding about all this while I try to work things out.”

run:

“So, what…what happened?” Josephine asks. “Austin just said we had to leave, like, now.”

“Homophobe saw my hand on Josselin’s waist and decided he was going to start shit.” Josselin curls even closer around you, holding you like you’re going to get torn away at any moment. You run your fingers through his hair again, gently scratch the back of his head. “Josselin, hey, it’s okay. We’re okay. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I know. I’m afraid they’d hurt you.”

“What the actual fuck,” Sara snaps. “Which guy? Who was it?”

“The skinhead in the mosh pit where I got a fist in my eye. That time it was an accident.” You don’t say what everyone’s thinking. That the next time would have been on purpose, and it would have been a lot worse.

Tagging @winterandwords @drippingmoon @dr-darkwood @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @roselin-books-official and anyone else who wants to jump on to find: except, inside, away, even, and water!

#writeblr #writeblr tag games #my writing #amwriting #find the word tag #excerpt #wip #the black and blues #sheraton academy #sheraton academy au #meara ryanne #josselin clearwater #danny yazdi #josephine gupta #sara quill

[zodiyack]

Rude! (3,000+ Follower Fic Special 1/3)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Female!Hopper!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Billy stuff, lyrics, fluff

Song: Rude by Magic!

Words: 1,798

Summary: Billy's love for Hopper's daughter is too strong to be stopped by the tough Chief Jim Hopper. Despite being told "not in a thousand years", he plans to love her regardless.

Note: Thank you so so much! I love you all, and writing your ideas, as well as sharing mine with you, has been so fucking fun and amazing! I'm sorry for my lack of words, I wish being an author came in handy with writing this, however, all I can say is that I love you all from the bottom of my heart. I've seen people do shout-outs, and ask-related stuff with their follower things, and I may do that, I'm not sure. For now, I hope you enjoy this... Thank you all, again!

Also 1/3 means that there will be two other fics released for the 3,000+ follower present!

Taglist: @urie-bowie-mercury, @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @dpaccione

Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist

"Saturday morning, jumped out of bed and put on my best suit. Got in my car and raced like a jet all the way to you. Knocked on your door with my heart in my hands, to ask you a question, 'cause I know that you're an old-fashioned man. Yeah."

Billy was freshly graduated, working as a lifeguard whilst his girlfriend worked her own job, both saving up for their chance to ditch Hawkins and move to California. Sweet Cali. Billy was excited to show the love of his life around the place he called home. Though, physically, he left the salty ocean and windy beach behind, the place never truly left him.

You could see it in his eyes. The waves crashing in his blue orbs. He swore the scent had just barely clung to his belongings; the smell of the tangy air that followed a majority of the state. Working at a pool was the closest he got to the memory of California. Chlorine was most certainly not the salted ocean waters, but with the circumstances, he decided it'd do.

The way his face lit up whenever he talked about his home...it made Y/n more and more excited to see it. His girlfriend had grown up in Hawkins, stayed there her whole life. Never once did the Hoppers leave Hawkins.

But the second that was introduced to Billy, he knew it had to change.

Although they were saving for a big move, Billy had...other things in mind with what to do with his first large pay-check (or series, rather. Working as a lifeguard didn't pay well with just one check). He began to work more shifts to make up for the money he'd spent, and one day after calling in for a day off, he decided to put his plan into action.

"Billy, stop messing with the tie."

"It's annoying." Hands slapped away his attempts of adjusting the black silk tie.

"Well it won't stop being annoying if you keep fucking it up."

For the first time in a long time, Neil Hargrove was calm. Not happy, not amused, not pissed off for some unjust reason- just calm. He wasn't wreaking havoc and he wasn't being an asshole to his son. Billy hadn't seen this side of his dad in quite some time, in fact, he thought something important was going on and he was about to fuck it all up. And then, Susan retreated to the living room with a camera and a freshly ironed suit.

"You're not putting me in that."

"And who asked for your opinion?" Neil deflected with a raised brow. One heavy sigh later and Billy was leaving the bathroom, dawning the whole black and white getup.

Susan clasped her hands over her mouth, a tear leaving her eye, "You look so handsome! Just like your dad!"

Billy rolled his eyes, "Great."

However, his careless attitude was swept under the rug when the blue Camaro pulled up to the police station, interrupting a clearly distressed Chief Hopper bickering with his daughter. Billy had to get himself together before stepping out of the car, jaw slack after seeing the beauty he got to call his date.

"Hello Mr-"

"Don't even try play nice with me, Hargrove. She's not going anywhere with you. End of story." Hopper kept his eyes trained on the blond, body tense like a snake preparing to strike it's prey.

Y/n grabbed Billy's arm, slowly directing him to the car, "And in the sequel, we find out I am going with Billy. End of that story."

"There is no 'sequel.' The writer got drunk and lazy." She paused, turning to face her father who stood tall, arms crossed and face unamused.

"So his daughter picked up where her father left off, and then the sequel was published and the two lived happily ever after, the end."

While her dad attempted to search for a line that would better hers and force her to stay, she pushed Billy toward the driver's side and slid into the car as fast as she could, rolling down the window as Billy started it up. "Bye! I'll be back before midnight!"

The two drove off toward the school, leaving behind a trail of dust and very, very, pissed off Hopper.

Prom was better than Billy thought it would be. He didn't want to go at first, but after Max found out and spoke to her mom about it (the little redhead a cupid-in-the-making), Neil pushed him to go (as he was "doing something else besides being a lazy-no-good rebel"). It was then that he called Y/n and asked if she'd be going.

The suit came in handy. Clashing with his rocker aesthetic, he put it back on once more. The once-annoying tie proved to be somewhat okay in the end.

Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life? Say yes, say yes, 'cause I need to know. You say I'll never get your blessing "till the day I die, tough luck my friend, but the answer is no!"

Why you gotta be so rude? Don't you know I'm human too? Why you gotta be so rude? I'm gonna marry her anyway. Marry that girl, marry her anyway! Marry that girl, yeah, no matter what you say! Marry that girl, and we'll be a family! Why you gotta be so rude?

With a deep breath, he ran-over the conversation in his head once more. Like a script for an actor, he had thought of every possible outcome and every possible line for him to face it with. He almost chickened out as his fist rose to the door, but it was too late, for his knuckles rapped against it before he realized he was even knocking.

El opened the door, eyes wide when she saw the familiar mullet and button-down. "Papa..." She muttered as she backed away and out of view.

Hopper traded places with her, his lazy expression sobering up instantaneously, replaced with a grumpy scowl. "Hargrove."

"Mr. Hopper, sir."

"What are you doing on my front porch?"

He swallowed roughly, palms sweaty against his sides. "I was wondering if I could talk to you."

"You seem to be doing just that right now, Hargrove." Hop crossed his arms and clenched his jaw.

Well, this was certainly not something Billy had thought of. He was on panic mode internally, attempting to find any response that could save his hide and accomplish what he set out to do. Unfortunately, the word-vomit button seemed to be misplaced under the button labeled "help".

"I'd like to marry your daughter, sir."

Hop's eyes grew just as big in size as El's had when she opened the door. He choked on his own surprise, coughing it off, then glaring at the boy in front of him. "Over my dead body, Hargrove. If that's all, I'd strongly advise you to get off of my fucking porch while you're still alive."

I hate to do this, you leave no choice; can't live without her. Love me or hate me, we will be boys- standing at that alter. And we will fly away, to another galaxy, you know. You know she's in love with me, she will go anywhere I go-

"Billy, he's just stubborn."

"No, no, I don't think he likes me."

Y/n sighed, rubbing her boyfriend's back. He hadn't told her of his proposal plans, only that Hop seemed to have it out for him. "It'll take time, but he'll warm up to you!"

"It's been how many years since he's met me?"

"To be fair, your reputation wasn't doing you any good until now..."

"It's not like that was fucking obvious." He slouched further down in the front seat of his Camaro. To Billy, all hope was lost. If he couldn't get Hopper to give him his blessing, he was sure he'd lose his goddamned mind.

Y/n frowned. Her frown flipped around as an idea popped into her head, her lips finding Billy's knuckles and quirking his attention. "Even if he never likes you, I'm not going anywhere."

Billy laughed softly, "he'll fucking kill me if you go against him."

"Eh, that's only if he can catch us."

"You're out of your fucking mind, Y/n Hopper."

"I know."

The rest of the night was spent in the Camaro, of course, doing one of Billy's favorite pastimes. By the time the sun rose, Billy was sneaking a kiss to a giggling Y/n before dropping from her window in the cabin and running to his car, parked far enough that Hop or El wouldn't notice. He blew her one more kiss, which she pretended to catch, then he broke into a sprint.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe; there was still a chance.

His knuckles hit the door again, shifting on his feet nervously. It swung open to reveal Hopper, an unimpressed look bringing no surprise Billy's way. It was quite expected, honestly.

"What." His tone made it clear he wasn't up for fucking around.

"Mr. Hopper, if you just give me one chance to prove to you that-"

"No, no, no, no, no. Let me make it very clear to you that I want you to have nothing to do with my daughter whatsoever. No marriage, no friendship, I don't even approve of you guys fucking or whatever-"

"We're in a serious relationship, sir. It's nothing like you think it is."

This made Hop laugh. He continued to do so, holding his stomach, until he realized Billy was unamused. "Oh, you're serious?... My answer is still no, Hargrove. My answer will always be no. Go find someone else's daughter's heart to break. You're not hurting mine."

"It's not like-"

Before he could even get the words out, he was met with a door in his face. Turned down, again.

Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life? Say yes, say yes, 'cause I need to know. You say I'll never get your blessing "till the day I die, tough luck my friend, 'cause the answer's still no!"

Why you gotta be so rude? Don't you know I'm human too? Why you gotta be so rude? I'm gonna marry her anyway. Marry that girl, marry her anyway! Marry that girl, yeah, no matter what you say! Marry that girl, and we'll be a family! Why you gotta be so rude, rude?

Again, again, and again, Billy incessantly pleaded with Hopper. Different tactics were all met with the same answer; rejection.

He held up a sign outside the cabin, only for Hopper to close the curtain and chuckle as he sipped his coffee.

He asked at the door again, only for Hop to threaten to give him a black eye (which was met with "aren't you the sheriff? Isn't that illegal?").

He raced past the police station, Max leaning out the window with another sign, only for Hop to threaten them with holding cells.

He even went as far as to ask Max and El to help, but Hopper had none of that, and sent Max home with a rant full of nos.

However, if Jim Hopper thought any of it would get it into Billy's head that getting his blessing was just not happening- he was as wrong as Nancy when she claimed not to have feelings for Jonathan.

Billy had another plan in mind, and this one was impossible to say no to.

Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life? Say yes, say yes, 'cause I need to know. You say I'll never get your blessing "till the day I die, tough luck my friend- but no still means no!"

"Hopper." Billy stood before his desk, interrupting his nice date with a delicious doughnut, and earning a very annoyed glare. "I got Miss Byer's blessing. Aren't you two a thing?"

"You son of a-"

"I got Eleven's too."

"Hargrove, I'm gonna-"

"Before you cuss me out, I think you should know that I've got a stable job, an interview with a mechanic so I have a job when the pool closes for the winter, and I've got a house on the market I'm looking at. I'm devoted to your daughter and she's devoted to me. You may not like me, but I think you're a great dad, better than the one I was unfortunately stuck with. You raised a strong and amazing woman. She's incredible and I admit, she deserves better than me-"

"You don't have to say that twice." Hopper huffed, crossing his arms.

"I know she deserves so much better than me, I'm surprised she's even with me too. But she loves me, and I think you can see that. I love her too. I would never, in a million years, break her heart."

Jim stayed silent for a few minutes. The silence brought uneasiness to Billy, but that was intentional on Hopper's behalf. He finally piped up with a cough, clearing his throat, before his piercing eyes met Billy's blue orbs.

"I'll hold you to that, Hargrove."

Why you gotta be so rude? Don't you know I'm human too? Why you gotta be so rude? I'm gonna marry her anyway. Marry that girl, marry her anyway! Marry that girl, yeah, no matter what you say! Marry that girl, and we'll be a family! Why you gotta be so rude? Why you gotta be so rude?

Bonus:

(after the wedding)

"What was that about a no?" Billy quipped with his infamous smirk.

"You're lucky I'm sheriff, Hargrove."

Why you gotta be so rude?

#billy hargrove x reader #dacre montgomery #billy hargrove #dacre montgomery x reader #stranger things #x reader #all readers #imagine #reader insert #holy shit! #zodiyack #3000 followers #3000 follower special! #thank you guys! #i'm without words- that's how happy i am lmao #also sorry if this is shit writing #i'm still recovering #special #by recovering i mean getting back into the gist of things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #dacre montgomery imagine #x you #rude! #song fic #rude by magic

[zodiakuroo]

Un(holy) Trinity

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader x Shigaraki

Content: 18+ dubcon/noncon, threesome, manhandling, rough sex, corruption, degradation, humiliation, breathplay, stepcest, breeding, blasphemy and sacrilege, elements of mindbreak and god complex (?) 

Word count: 4.1k

Notes: my first threesome and idk how to feel about it but here it is! If it’s bad I can blame it on the fact that I just had my wisdom teeth extracted and am currently in a world of pain :) also i’m on bedrest and incredibly bored so if anyone has requests or thirsts or just wants to chat... yeah

also if this banner is shit i’m sorry i rushed and made it on my phone cause i just rly wanted to to post

This is part 2 to my other fic Love Thy Brother which you can read here 

Now the serpent was more cunning than any beast of the field which the LORD God had made. And he said to the woman, “Has God indeed said, ‘You shall not eat of every tree of the garden’?” - Genesis 3:1

Twelve days.

Twelve days since you lost your virginity.

Twelve days since you lost your virginity to your step-brother, no less. 

The night that it happened, you lay awake in your bed dreading the aftermath of the horrific incident. How could you face him again? How could you face your family? How could you face God? 

You were too cowardly to face the rest of your household. The Todoroki family welcomed you into their home only for you betray them by sleeping with Touya. Ever since you were little, your mother would say she had a sort of sixth sense that meant God would always tell her when you’d been up to mischief. It sounds silly but there was no explanation for how she would always catch out in lie or know things that you never told her. You feared she would take one look at you and know the sin you committed. And so you chose to make yourself scarce, taking extra shifts at work and choosing to study at the campus library rather than at home. Your siblings seemed to notice how busy you suddenly were, often remarking how they missed you around the house. That just made you feel more ashamed. 

As for God, you felt like you needed to do whatever necessary to prove your faith. You wanted Him to know the extent of your shame and remorse. You were weak in spirit, making you an easy target for someone as devious as Touya. You prayed and begged for forgiveness until your knees hurt but no matter what you did, the guilt was inescapable. You realized it was because, irrespective of the regret and remorse you felt, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed what happened. You liked the way Dabi made you feel and you hated yourself for it. But no matter how much you liked it, something like that could never happen again. As penance, you banned yourself from bringing your hands anywhere near your groin. After all that temptation is what brought you to this point in the first place. But the thread of your self-control is thin and withered so at night when you’re certain everyone is asleep, you’re humping your pillow like an animal and biting down on your lip trying to keep from moaning his name. At least you weren’t touching right? 

Dabi, by some God-given miracle, made himself scarce as well. It wasn’t uncommon for the noirette to disappear for days at a time doing heaven knows what only to arrive back at home like nothing happened; so no one really questioned his absence. Perhaps he  felt the same way you did and was avoiding facing you and the other Todorokis.

Yeah right. 

Shame? Todoroki Touya doesn’t know the meaning of the word. 

In any case, you had become used to a Dabi-less house and so lulled into a false sense of safety, slowly but surely reverting back to normal. That’s why as you make your way downstairs, prepared to go to your church, the sound of gunfire and explosions from the living room doesn’t alarm you. Probably Natsuo or Shouto playing one of their video games, you thought. But when you get to the bottom of the stairs you’re met with unmistakable dark locks. Not just him. The back of another person’s head, one with pale blue, shoulder length hair. Before you can stop yourself, you let out a gasp. Neither of them react, seemingly too focused on their game. You don’t waste any time feeling relieved, choosing instead to make a silent escape. 

You could only dream of being so lucky. 

“Oi!” Your step-brother calls without turning around. He hasn’t seen you, you think. If you move quickly you can still get out of this. “I know you heard me, brat. Get over here before I drag you over here.” He still doesn’t bother to turn around but the sharpness in his tone lets you know that you’d be smart to listen. You take a second to steel your nerves and make your way over to the couch, trying your best to look as intimidating as possible. You scowl at both men but they are so engrossed in their video game, they don’t even acknowledge that you’re standing right there. “Aren’t you gonna say hi? We have company.” 

We?

The company in question is Shigaraki Tomura. He’s been to the house before although he’s never even so much as glanced in your direction, too busy with his phone or playing games with Dabi. Despite your hard expression you can only manage a meek “Hello Shigaraki.” 

He responds by finally looking at you, with a sleazy grin, a pair of crimson eyes, surrounded by creases meet your own. “Sup.” 

Beer cans litter the coffee table, one of them being turned into a makeshift ashtray while both have smouldering cigarettes perched between their lips. “You’re not supposed to smoke in the house.” 

“You’re not supposed to smoke in the house.” Dabi mocks you with a nasal voice. 

You simply roll your eyes, not interested in continuing this interaction any further.  “Whatever. I’m leaving now.” You state with as much firmness as you can muster. You spin on your heels but are kept in place by long, slender digits wrapped around your wrist. 

“Where are you off to anyways?” The game paused, both boys now looking at you. 

Out of habit, you answer truthfully. “Bible study.” 

Shigaraki and Dabi burst into raucous laughter. 

You should have lied. 

“Nah you’re gonna hang out with me and Shigaraki for a bit.” 

“Dabi, I have to leave.”

“You don’t have to do anything except what I tell you and I’m telling you to sit.” 

Before you can protest you’re being hauled on to the couch, squeezed between the two of them. 

“Nice necklace.” Tomura snorts, hand reaching out to grab at your crucifix but you swat it away. His gaze is unnerving. It makes you wonder if- no. He promised he wouldn’t. 

Just like that, their game is resumed, as if you were never there. A few rounds pass, no words exchanged between either of them, only curses muttered under their breath. “Dabi, can I please go. I’m bored.” 

Wrong choice of words. 

“You hear that Tomura? The princess is bored.” His fingers are still moving rapidly over his controller. 

“Really now? Come on then Todoroki, let’s show her a good time. I’ve seen how she likes to have fun.” 

His comment on your necklace suddenly makes sense, but you still can’t believe it. “You didn’t…” you whip your head back to look at Dabi. 

”Sorry doll, you made your Nii-san so proud, I just had to show you off.” Dabi smiles shamelessly, lighting himself another cigarette. 

“You’re fucking sick Touya.” Tomura says, however his tone is not one of disgust but rather of admiration. 

“You promised...” Your voice breaks. You’re humiliated beyond belief. 

Both of them laugh at you again, discarding their controllers. “Told you, it’s adorable how stupid she is.” Dabi remarks to his friend, as if you’re not sitting right next to them. 

You try to force your way off the couch but get pulled into Dabi’s lap, one of his arms hooking around both of yours, securing them behind your back. You squirm in his arms but he stills you with a hard slap on your inner thigh. “Be good okay? Don’t embarrass me.” He nuzzles into your neck. 

Shigaraki flips up your dress exposing your white lace panties. He runs his thumb up and down your clothed slit, he fabric slowly becoming even more transparent. One severe jerk to the top of your dress and the straps are torn clean off, revealing the matching bra. “Yo, Touya. I thought she was a good girl.”

Dabi peers over your shoulder to get look. “Who’s all this for babe? You screwing the preacher or something? Or were you hoping I’d do something like this?” He tugs down your bra until your breasts are spilling over the top of it.

“Dabi…” Your choke on your plea when he sinks his teeth into your neck. He bites down so hard you’re positive he’s left a mark.

“Who?” 

“T-Touya-nii.” You whimper. 

“Better.” 

Your destroyed dress is discarded somewhere across the room and you find yourself on your hands and knees with Shigaraki kneeling on the couch in front of you and Dabi behind you. 

“Go easy on her alright Tomura. It’s her first time sucking cock.” He chuckles. 

Your eyes go wide. “Wait...” you mewl but neither pay you any mind.

“And you.” Dabi yanks a fistful of your hair. “No teeth. No puke. Or I’ll let my boy ream your little ass as punishment.”

“Yeah. What he said.” Shigaraki mutters, pulling his semi out of his sweatpants, rubbing his tip against your lips. His is not as scary as your step-brother’s but him staring down at you like this, makes him seem every bit as intimidating. 

Pre-cum dribbles from the swollen tip. You’re not entirely sure you want that in your mouth but you’re also not sure if you have a choice so you open up hesitantly. 

Dabi’s right. It is your first time doing something like this. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do but as it turns out you don’t have to do much, not with the way Shigaraki starts thrusting his quickly hardening member into your mouth.

“Move your tongue slut.” The man in front of you grunts. You do your best despite the heavy intrusion to obey his command, moving from side to side, swirling around the head when he pulls out of your mouth. He looks down at you with cruel vermillion eyes, panting as he strokes himself in front of you, spreading your saliva across his shaft before sliding deep into your mouth again.

Behind you, Dabi spreads apart your cheeks, squeezing the flesh in his calloused hands. “Remember what I said. Be good and I’ll give you a reward.” He pulls your panties to the side and lets out a whistle at the sight of your dripping slit. “She’s enjoying it. Make her take it deeper.”

You can’t possibly fathom how much deeper he can go when his head is already nudging at your tonsils. You try to swallow the saliva building up in your mouth, making your cheeks hollow out around Shigaraki’s shaft. Seems like that was the right thing to do as his hand flies to the back of your head. “Shit. Shit. So good.”

Dabi’s breath wafts over your pussy. He spreads your lips apart and you feel his hot tongue lick up the juices leaking from your hole. You squeal around Tomura’s dick. You want to pull off but his spindly fingers hold your head in place.

“Told you angel. Good little sisters get rewards.” With that he takes your clit between his lips and suckles on it gently while one of his fingers circles your entrance. Knuckle by knuckle he slides into you, making you keen. You arch your back trying to shift your hips backwards against his hand, silently urging him to find that special spot he showed you last time. He establishes a loose rhythm. Hot wet muscle and cold metal of his piercing circles the sensitive bundle of nerves, before applying suction while his fingers work you open.

The sensation is overwhelming, a form of heavenly torture and your thighs quiver barely able to hold you up while you use your last bit of mental strength to focus on suppressing your gags. That mental strength all but evaporates when the digits inside you graze that rough patch embedded in your walls. It’s so pleasurable your reflex is to run from his fingers. Luckily for Shigaraki, that means you move forward, taking him further into your mouth.

“This where you want me? This your spot, angel?” Dabi taunts you. Shigaraki holds you in place while two of your step-brother’s fingers drill your cunt, hitting that spot over and over again. Garbled moans and cries leave your mouth and reverberate around Tomura’s cock, proving to be too much for him ultimately. 

“Shit Stop!” Don’t wanna come yet.” He pulls out your mouth so that a string of your drool drips down to your breasts.

“God! Touya-nii!” You sputter out.

“Still with the God shit?” He uses your hair to force you to look at him, neck twisted at an awkward, uncomfortable angle. “God ever make you feel this good?” His fingers thrust into you harder. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire.

“Ngghh-N-no –oh! Oh!” is your incoherent answer.

Dabi forces you back down, shoving you face first into the cushions. “See? Fuck him. Give up on god. Give up on everyone except your big brother cause no one else can make you feel this good.”

You’re so pathetic. The way you’re rocking yourself in unison with the motions of his hands. The way your tongue hangs out of your mouth, impeding any sort of intelligible verbal response. The way you’re mindlessly nodding along to whatever filth is coming out of Dabi’s mouth.

“C’mon Touya. Turn her around. Wanna try out that sweet pussy you’ve been bragging about.” You’re reminded that you aren’t alone. No, your brother’s best friend is right there to witness exactly how pathetic you are.

“Yeah in a minute. I’m still having my fun.” Dabi answers, face pressed against your mons before working you with his mouth once again.  

“Man! Come on!” Tomura whines.

 “I said in a minute.  Not my fault you can’t last.”

It’s amazing how they can bicker like this right now, as if you aren’t on your hands and knees for them, gummy walls still pulsing around his fingers. However, it’s not long before Dabi’s focus is back on you taking you to the brink of orgasm. He slows his fingers, keeping you balanced on that razor thin edge. “Should I make you cum angel?” His voice is dripping with fake concern. “Dunno… what’s in it for me?”

“Anything! Touya-nii please!”

“Anything? You gonna obey me? Do whatever I say like a good little angel? You gonna worship me?” You can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he’s mocking you.

Probably the latter. And you deserve it too.

Your faith was the thing you deemed more important than anything and anyone else but Dabi, all too easily, convinced you to disregard that. Made you lose all sense and give into lust by showing you mindblowing pleasure, only magnified by your awareness of how deeply sinful this all was. That’s the extent of the power he has over you. The story of Adam and Eve is one you know forwards and backwards and yet you were so easily tempted forbidden fruit and left completely corrupted.  Yeah, he’s definitely mocking you.

“Any- fuck- anything” You’re wiggling your ass, goading Dabi into finishing you off

“Cum in my mouth. Angel, give it to me” That’s the final straw. You explode around his fingers. Despite your walls, clamping around him, he manages to piston into you, hitting that squishy spot with astounding accuracy. His unyielding stimulation makes it feel as though the high won’t end. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Eventually, it does end though, his fingers drag out against the pull of your swollen pussy. He licks you clean making sure he gets every last drop of your cum, both inside and out, on his tongue. The ball of his piercing catches onto your rim making you yelp. He soothes the sting with gentle laps of his tongue.

“Tastes so sweet angel. So sweet knowing I’m the only one to ever fuck this pretty pussy.” He snickers before adding “So far.”

“Yeah, can I fuck her now?” Tomura was turned on before but seeing the way you fell apart at the hands of your brother? His minimal patience has run out. All he can think of now is being inside you.

 “You heard him babe. Turn around.” He spanks your ass. You try to turn around but thanks to your shaky legs you nearly fall off the couch. Dabi catches you before that happens and he dutifully sets you up on all fours, held up by quivering limbs. You hear heavy breathing from behind you as Shigaraki taps his head against your puffy clit while you twitch in place.

“She wants this so bad. Had no idea your Christian little sister was such a whore.” Shigaraki mutters. He holds you still as he buries himself in you, breathing becoming more erratic with every inch until his hip bones are digging into your soft flesh. He’s so deep. You feel so full. You squeeze shut your eyelids, savouring the stretch. 

Calloused fingers press into your jaw, making your eyes shoot open. “Pretty angel, did you forget about me?” Dabi looms over you, making a show of spitting in his palm and using it to stroke himself. He slips his thumb into your mouth, pad pressing down on the plush pillow of your tongue. “Gonna stuff you nice ‘n full angel.” All you can do is blink up at him with teary eyes, pupils blown wide with desire. 

Shigaraki begins thrusting into you, hips moving at a brutal pace. Dabi isn’t far behind him, replacing his thumb with his cock and you don’t waste time waiting for him to tell you what to do. You close your lips around his shaft, engulfing him in the wet heat of your mouth.

Unlike his friend, Dabi starts off slow. His piercings drag across your tongue and you taste metal and the salt of his pre-cum. It takes some time for you to get used to taking him in your mouth, the jewellery an added obstacle. 

You feel so full. 

Shigaraki is bottoming out with every thrust, it’s so lewd the way it makes you squelch around him. Dabi’s shaft is rubbing your throat raw and still, you make an effort to take him deeper. He keeps one hand on the back of your head while he fucks you mouth.

He looks so ethereal, so euphoric, letting out little moans and whispered expletives. The sounds he makes are divine, so heavily contrasted by everything you know about him. It leaves you star struck. He recognizes the adoration in your eyes and responds in kind with a cocky smirk. He remembers how you looked at him when you first met. Disdain and judgment. Now you look at him like he’s your only salvation. 

It’s sad actually. How you’re so desperate for someone to tell you how to live. And what a sweet, adoring little follower you are. Wasted on religion if you ask him. So soft and pliant, perfect for your big brother to mould and corrupt into his personal fuckangel. 

“Angel, Nii-san’s gonna fill you up. And you’re gonna take it yeah?”

Your whole life you aspired to this holy standard of perfection in the hopes of escaping eternal damnation. But you’re beyond absolution now.

“All of it down your throat.”

It’s okay though.

If heaven doesn’t feel like this, you’re not sure it’s worth all the effort to get there. 

He holds your necklace behind you like a leash, twisting it around his fingers. Between the way he’s basically strangling you and the way your swallowing muscles contract around his cock means that you’re not getting much air into your lungs. Your head is spinning, from being both oxygen deprived and cock drunk.

“Your God doesn’t want you anymore.” The clasp snaps and he dangles the charm in front of your face. The mould of Christ nailed to the cross taunts you.  What was once a symbol of divine love and God’s boundless forgiveness and sacrifice is just a reminder of how far you’ve fallen into depravity, creaming around Shigaraki’s cock as he ruins your cunt while your Nii-san claims your throat “You’re filthy.” Touya sneers at you as he holds himself in your throat, watching you cry and choke around him. “Dirty fuckin angel.” He grunts as he floods your mouth with the taste of his cum. It’s not exactly pleasant but you try to swallow it all down. There’s just so much. That means he’s pleased with you right? You want him to be pleased. Good girls get rewards he said 

“It’s okay.” He muses as he pulls out of your mouth. “You have me. I’m better than God and I Iove you when you’re nasty like this.” He empathizes his point by dragging his wet, softening cock across your face. “Nii-sans perfect little angel.”

It’s so pitiful how the small praise makes your heart bloom and makes your hole flutter.

You’re coughing up Touya’s cum while your body shakes with Shigaraki’s thrusts.

“What about me hm? I’m fucking you. What? You don’t like it?” Tomura’s going harder now, determined to get his fair share of your attention.

“Shig-Shigaraki – shit. Slow down!”

You’re ignored by both of them once again. If anything, Shigaraki starts fucking you harder

.”Yo’ dustpot. You better pull out. That hole still belongs to me.”

The warning falls on deaf ears, Tomura is too far gone. “So warm, she’s squeezin’ me. Fuck. Fuck.’’ No thoughts, just your tight cunt.

“Gonna do whatever I tell you?” Dabi’s talking to you now, cerulean eyes boring into yours.

You nod still staring at him with absolute devotion.

“Touya-nii’s will be done? Huh? Has a nice ring to it.”

When you don’t respond he grabs you by your cheeks forming an open mouthed pout. “Say it.”

“Touya-nii’shhh will be done.” The words come out distorted but he’s satisfied

“Oh yeah? Then be good angel slut and come on his cock for me.”  

You’re pushed over the edge, coming for the second time. Your walls clamp down around him as you sob out both their names in the form of incoherent babbling. It hits you as hard as the first one. You’re so caught up in your high you barely register the vice grip on your hips, the frantic humping against your ass. “Tight. Fuckin tight! Gotta breed! Breed this fucking hole.”

His hot, sticky cum floods your walls with, your throbbing cunt milking him for everything he’s got. He ruts against you a couple more times before removing himself completely.

You hear the familiar click of a camera. He’s sorry (not really) but the sight of your fucked out hole leaking globs of your cream and his cum was too hot for Shigaraki to not add to his spankbank. 

“Thanks for that little sis.” Dabi is resting on the couch, head thrown back smoking a cigarette.

“Yeah thanks sweetness.”  Both men, tuck themselves back into their pants

Everything feels so surreal. You cautiously move you hand between your thighs. Feeling your sore abused cunt in an attempt to grasp the reality of what happened.

Wait a minute. 

It’s too much, that too sticky to be just your arousal down there. The more you squeeze, contracting your pelvic floor, the more it seems to seep out of you. 

“You… You came inside.” You murmur as your eyes well up with tears. Whatever daze you were in seems to be broken by this revelation. Instead it’s replaced by fear of what the consequences of this might be. 

Dabi smacks his friend upside the head. “You fuckin’ dumbass. I told you not to.”

Judging by his grin, Shigaraki doesn’t register the insult. He’s too busy basking in the afterglow. “Aw, don’t cry babe. You were gripping me so tight, I thought you wanted it. ‘S’okay, your Nii-san will get you a plan B”

“Fuck no. That’s your jizz inside her.” He scowls, eyes focused on the cum that’s leaking out of your spent pussy.

“C’mon Dabi don’t be like that. I’m broke right now.” Shigaraki pleads.

Touya huffs and rolls his eyes.  “You can get yourself a morning after pill right? Tomura will pay you back.”

“Yeah babe. I promise.” He gives you a dopey smile.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s lying. Yeah, you know better now. You just nod as you pull up your panties, cringing at the sticky, wet sensation against your cunt.

 “Me and Tomura are heading out. Make sure you clean all this up before anyone gets home.”

“B-but Touya-nii-“ you snivel.

“No buts. Clean up or you won’t be sitting comfy for a week. Are we clear?”

“Yes Touya-nii.” You reply defeated.

“And do it properly. Fuyumi has 3 brothers, she knows what a cumstain looks like and I don’t wanna have to do any explaining to her.”

You only nod, trying (and failing) to blink away tears.

Dabi rewards you with a chaste kiss to your cheek. “Best little sister in the world.” And he leaves you with that.

#tw dubcon #tw manhandling #tw noncon #tw stepcest #tw pseudoincest #tw sacrilegious #tw blasphemy #tw mindbreak #dark fic #dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi imagine #touya x reader #touya smut #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader #mha smut #mha imagines #bnha smut #bnha imagines

[sluttywonwoo]

3 nights || jw x reader

summary: a one-night hookup turns into three (based off of the song 3 nights by dominic fike )

warnings: swearing, smut (18+), unprotected sex (uh yeah don’t do that)

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this is an old tom holland piece of mine that i thought would fit wonwoo (my tom holland blog is @wazzupmrstark if you wanna check it out)

masterlist

A hellish smirk tugged at Wonwoo’s lips as he gazed down at his phone in the midst of a pitch meeting. He glanced at the image he’d been sent for a second more before sliding his phone back in his pocket and lifting his head to indicate he was paying attention. But he was distracted. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for Jeon Wonwoo to receive nude pictures from unsaved numbers, but he was pretty sure he knew who this one was from. At least he hoped. You had cropped your face out of it, but from the expanse of your collarbone to the curve of your hip he could recognize the freckles under your breasts and the small scar just below your belly button.

He waited until he was dismissed from the meeting to respond. Didn’t want to seem too eager.  

What did I do to deserve this out of the blue, darling?

You didn’t respond right away. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he hadn’t responded right away, so why would you? You had better things to be doing than sit around waiting for him to text back, but a selfish part of him wished that you were.

You were a bit different from Wonwoo’s other lays, but he didn’t mean that in the nauseating ‘you’re not like other girls’ way that men liked to use to get into a girl’s pants. He didn’t really need to use cheesy, comparative shit like that if he was being honest. All he had to do was send a wyd text at 2am to get a girl to come over. Unless that girl was you.

Of course, you were beautiful, and incredible in bed, but something about you always left him wanting more. Maybe it was the fact that your presence was fleeting, you never stayed very long afterwards. Maybe your elusiveness tugged at a deeper curiosity in the back of his mind that he was unaware of. He was already familiar with every inch of your body, but truthfully he knew very little else about you. and maybe that’s what intrigued him.

Or maybe it was the simplicity. Routine hookups, no strings attached- regardless of how many times you came… over.

Whatever it was that kept you on his mind, Wonwoo didn’t dwell. He pushed all questions and logic away when he was with you. And when he wasn’t… he tried not to think about it. But it was difficult not to when you sent him pictures like that out of nowhere, no context, not even a response.

Ding!

Never mind.

Oops wrong person ;)

Wonwoo let out a low chuckle and shook his head. Of course, there was a small part of him that wondered if you had actually meant to send that to someone else, but he shook it off. If he knew you at all, which granted he really didn’t, he knew this game.

He didn’t hesitate to respond this time.

Shame… was gonna ask if you were busy tonight.

Only a few seconds passed before his phone buzzed again.

What did you have in mind??

You.

It was corny, sure, but effective.

I think I can make something work.

He grinned at the screen and sighed, licking his lips.

9pm. Our place.

-

You hadn’t even taken off your coat by the time he had you up against the door with his mouth on your neck, pressing breathy kisses to your skin. You gasped as he sucked a hickey just under your jaw, closing your eyes and moaning his name.

A seedy motel in the middle of the city wasn’t the… most ideal spot for late night booty calls. The sunset-colored wallpaper was peeling and the showers only worked sometimes, but in the grand scheme of things, location wasn’t important. It was still the best sex of your life, and they had cheap vending machine snacks.

The bed creaked and choked out a cloud of dust when Wonwoo pushed you onto it, but you just laughed and pulled at the waistband of his jeans for him to join you.

He smiled into a kiss that turned desperate. His hands were on your zipper, your bra clasp, your panties, anything to get you undressed faster. You held in a whimper when he sat up to undo his belt, something about the way he did that always drove you crazy. He smirked knowingly as he did and took his time.

You whined impatiently and nudged at him with a knee to hurry up. Thankfully, Wonwoo wasn’t one to leave you hanging and was back on you instantly. He pressed a thigh in between your legs and licked a stripe up the valley of your breasts, choosing the left, his favorite, to nip at.

“Fuck, Wonwoo,” you groaned, grinding up against him.

He paused and lifted himself so that he was hovering above you. “How was your day?”

You rolled your eyes and threw your head back in frustration. “Can we not?”

“I can’t ask you how your day was?”

“That’s not what I’m here for, and you know it.”

“Then what are you here for?” he asked, wanting you to say it out loud. You kissed him instead and took the distraction as an opportunity to pull him by the collar and flip him so that you were on his lap.

You tugged at his jeans and boxers playfully. “This.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Good one.”

“I know.”

He lifted his head to kiss you and you gave in with a quick peck on the lips. As often as you were with Wonwoo, you never took the time to notice how pretty he was. You knew he was hot. You could write an entire dissertation on how fucking fit he was, but as you gazed down at him underneath you you realized just how lovely this boy really was, especially like this. His dark hair was soft and wavy without all the product in it, and god his lips were so pink, and the way he looked at you…

You kissed him again, fiercely this time, and slid a hand down his pants just to feel him. He groaned, already needy.

“Wait-” he pulled back and sat up on his elbows.

“What?” You were worried you’d done something wrong, stared at him like you were in love with him for a second too long and he’d caught on.

“Do you want me to go down on you?”

You sighed in relief and laughed. “No need, I’m already soaked.”

“I can tell,” he quipped back and quirked an eyebrow.

You were a little embarrassed he could feel your arousal through his jeans and cursed. “Fuck you!”

“I believe you were just about to.”

“You’re lucky I’m horny, Wonwoo,” you growled.

“Tell me about it.” He smirked and laid back with an arm over his head.

Sometimes you wondered if the sex was really worth it, even if he was the best you’d ever had…

Of all the ways Wonwoo could fuck you, this had to be one of his favorites. There was just something about you on top of him that he couldn’t handle. The way your delicate gold necklace dangled in his face as you rode him, the way his hands fit so perfectly on your ass, the way your hair hung around your shoulders. He never lasted long.

To be fair, neither did you. And the way Wonwoo was saying your name wasn’t helping. Every time you lowered yourself back on him and his cock hit that spot inside you that burning intensity in your stomach grew a little stronger.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t out of breath and your thighs weren’t starting to get sore, but Wonwoo was begging you not to stop and you’d be damned if you let him down.

“Y/n, I’m close,” he warned and brought his fingers to your clit to make sure you were right there with him.

You just nodded, too far gone to say much else as you chased the high that was just out of reach. Wonwoo thrust up into you a final time and finished with a moan of your name tumbling from his lips.

Even as he was coming down he continued to massage your clit.

“Cum for me, love.” His voice was spent and gravelly and his eyes were pleading and fuck, who were you to deny him? You gripped his shoulders hard as your whole body tensed and you tipped over the edge.

And for a moment the world stopped spinning and time stopped moving as electricity surged through your body and you forgot your own name.

Wonwoo was still whispering words of quiet praise when you collapsed on his chest seconds later, trembling.

“That’s it, darling. That’s good.”

You let him rub your back like that until you caught your breath enough to sit up and roll off of him. You immediately started collecting your clothes from around the room and putting them back on as Wonwoo did the same.

“Two cherry cokes?” he asked and you nodded.

“And powdered donuts?”

“Give me some credit, how could I forget?”

It was something of a tradition to share a snack and a soda after you hooked up. It had started on a night when both of you were too drunk to drive anywhere afterwards so you passed the time sitting in bed eating stale powdered donuts and drinking soda to sober up. Logically, you could have slept it off and went home the next morning, but it was a rule you had to never sleep over at a one-night-stand’s place. Even neutral territory like this was off limits.

Wonwoo could’ve gone to bed without you and left you to fend for yourself but instead he made the trek out to the vending machines in his boxers to get you both some food. Turns out cherry coke was the only soda they had, and there was no telling how old it was, but it was better than nothing.

That night was so long ago, but you still remembered how he stayed up with you until four in the morning watching shitty reality shows on the fuzzy tv, talking about exes and weird dreams and hobbies you both wanted to learn. You wondered if he ever ended up teaching himself pottery.

Wonwoo was back with the goods before you could blink and handed you your respective share of the stash. You held your can up and clinked it against his before taking a sip. You’d grown to like the syrupy sweet taste of it by now, and even found yourself craving it when you weren’t with Wonwoo.

“Same time tomorrow?” Wonwoo asked as you buttoned your pants.

“You’ll still be in town?”

Usually he didn’t stay for long unless he was working on his music so you didn’t let yourself get hopeful just in case he was kidding.

“And the next day,” he confirmed. It was an invitation.

“You’re not one for planning ahead,” you pointed out, gathering the rest of your belongings in your arms.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

-

Wonwoo didn’t sleep well that night. He never did when he wasn’t in his own bed, but this was different. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened just hours ago in that run-down motel by the highway and what might happen tomorrow.

His members had been confused when he moved his flight back home two days and he hadn’t given them any other explanation than ‘catching up with friends’ for them to go off of. He had those days off anyway. Seoul would be fine without him until then.  

But uncertainty lingered in his mind. What if you didn’t call? What if you were busy? He knew your world didn’t revolve around him, but he was starting to wish it did. It was stupid, and there were dozens of other people he could call for a quick fuck in this town if you stood him up, but suddenly none of them sounded interesting.

He circled back to that picture you’d sent him earlier and found himself wishing he could see your face.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he muttered out loud to no one in particular and forced himself to turn his phone off to try and sleep again.

-

The second night was much like the first. Quick sex, donuts, cherry coke. You didn’t even finish your half of the donuts before you were out the door. You expected the third night to be the same, along with that awkward ‘we might never see each other again’ interaction that happens at the end of every fling, but what you got was far from it.

“You should stay.”

You already had one shoe on when he dropped that out of nowhere and-

“What?” was all you could say.

“It’s late, you should stay over. We could get breakfast in the morning or something.”

“Wonwoo, I-”

“You don’t sleep over after one-night-stands, I know.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Well, it’s been three nights…” he trailed off.

“But it’s the same arrangement,” you argued.

“What if it wasn’t?”

You put down your other shoe and stood up. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“I have those rules for a reason. I didn’t just make them up for fun. Without them… feelings get hurt. Hearts get broken. Things get complicated.”

“I know.” Wonwoo sighed softly and took a tentative step towards you. “But-”

“But what?”

“But it doesn’t have to be like that,” he finished. “It won’t be like that.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” he said honestly. “But there’s a first time for everything.”

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[onecanonlife]

Tommy and Wilbur fell apart a long time ago, and there was never any time to mourn the pieces of what they were.

But here's the most important thing: Tommy doesn't give up on the people he cares about.

(Or: on grieving, graves, a past that refuses to let go, and learning to look forward at long last.)

(word count: 5,619)

--------------------

“You know,” Tommy says, “I never really got to—to mourn you. Not properly, anyway.”

He’s not sure what response he’s expecting from Wilbur. He’s not sure why he’s saying anything at all. He’s not sure why he’s here.

That last one is a lie. He scuffs the ground with his shoe, and then pretends that he didn’t.

“I wasn’t expecting you to mourn me,” Wilbur says, in that stupid, even, condescending tone of his, the one that he uses whenever he thinks Tommy has said something incredibly obvious, when he’s got an idea in his head of how things are and what people mean, regardless of the way it all actually is. “In fact, I rather thought you wouldn’t. Shouldn’t, even.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He has no patience left. No patience left for the look in Wilbur’s eyes, no patience left for the way he focuses straight ahead, barely sparing him a glance, no patience left for the way he speaks, measured and calculating, every word he says carefully weighed against the end result, curated for intent and impact. No patience, and he had precious little to begin with. “I’m not even—this isn’t about you.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. It makes him look like a prick. “Oh?” he says.

“Because I would’ve,” he continues, doggedly. Now that he’s started saying it, he’s damn fucking well going to finish it. “But, y’know, you blew it all up, so we had to rebuild, and then I got exiled” —His voice doesn’t waver at all— “and then shit just kept on happening, so I never got to decide. How I felt. I never got to think about it.”

Wilbur laughs, then, and it’s the laugh that he hates, because it’s the laugh that’s not genuine. He knows what Wilbur sounds like when he’s happy, and this isn’t it. Hasn’t been it for a long time.

“Not sure there’s much to think about, there,” Wilbur says, and he scowls.

“Shut up, you prick,” he says. “And yes there was. That’s not something you get to choose. What I feel.”

“I’m not trying to—” Wilbur starts, but he shakes his head, going back to talk over him, because no, he’s not doing this. Not today, and not here.

“You are though, aren’t you?” he says. “You always do this. You go, you go mimimimi, I’m Wilbur, and I understand everything about how people think and I’m always right and you are all wrong, and you, I dunno, man. You just. You just don’t. You don’t know. You think you know things, but you don’t. You’re not always right. And I’m—I don’t fucking know why I’m bothering with this right now, but it’s not so you can tell me that I shouldn’t be. Because that’s not something that’s up to you.”

“Then why are you bothering with this?” Wilbur says, and his voice isn’t unkind, but it’s not kind, either.

“I just said I didn’t know—”

“Because if you’re asking me if you should mourn me, you already know what I’m going to say to that,” Wilbur says. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s the fucking problem,” he says, and tacks on a quick, “Not like that,” but Wilbur’s face has already hardened, and yeah, there’s a million better ways he could have put that, but that’s the thing about talking to Wilbur. His brain is never firing on all cylinders, as it were, because it’s too busy trying to figure out if he should associate him with warm summer days and the haze of potions and a strummed guitar or explosions and drifting smoke and blank eyes and the awful realization that what he thought would make everything right didn’t do anything at all, and that nothing would ever be right again.

And before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater stretches out, vines trawling over the edge, leaves sprouting from between the rocks, sunlight catching on the pool at the bottom, the flag fluttering lightly in the wind. Before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater has grown over, time pressing itself into the cracks. Before the both of them, L’Manberg is a crater. It wasn’t always.

“You make everything so fucking difficult,” he says.

“It’s what I live for,” Wilbur says.

“It’s what you died for, too,” he says.

Wilbur pauses.

“No,” he says. “It wasn’t.” But for once, he doesn’t elaborate, and Tommy glares at him. Only for a moment, because there’s no point in glaring when someone won’t see. Won’t look. Wilbur has his eyes turned to the crater, and Tommy has his eyes turned to Wilbur, and something about that is how it’s always been. The vines have grown over the earth’s old wounds, but Tommy can’t help but feel like they’ve curled around his ankles, holding him to the spot, the moment, and every moment that came before.

I never got to mourn you, he doesn’t say again. I never got to mourn you, and I feel like I should. But you’re here, and what the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Wilbur won’t hear him. And if he does, he won’t understand.

-----

He collects bits of the past like buttons, or stamps, or memories.

He has his discs. He’s hesitant to play them, even now. Hesitant to take them out of his enderchest. He has his home, still in the same spot, all this time later. His hill, his hole, his garden, their bench. He sat on that bench and heard Wilbur, once, reaching out from beyond the grave, and Wilbur told him he was proud, and something in him ached in the same way that his scars now do when it rains.

He has some of Friend’s wool. Just that, just wool, because he doesn’t know how to knit, and he doesn’t know who would teach him. He can sew a little, but it was something born of necessity, of the need to patch up uniforms and close the tears over freshly dealt wounds, and he can still feel the needle pricking into his fingers, again and again and again. He never could figure out how to hold it so that it wouldn’t. He bled for L’Manberg in more ways than one.

Deep inside a chest, he has two uniforms. Blue and red and white. One is a size too small. The other is several sizes too large, and always will be.

He still goes to pray, sometimes, though not as often as he did. He got the chance to meet god and found no one there, so it’s a little tricky, these days, being faithful. But he’ll go to Church Prime, because no one else really does, so he’ll have the whole building for himself as he strides up to ring the bell, to ask for guidance and favors, to pay his homage at the feet of a higher power that he cannot believe cares. On the best days, he’s tempted to try to conduct a service. But there’s no point when there’s no one to hear it but himself. Even he can’t bring himself to put on a show for empty pews.

He prays, and nobody answers, and sometimes he can’t help but remember the void, the tearing, ripping nothingness, raking him to shreds again and again, where he was not alone and yet nobody came.

He considers visiting Tubbo. But Tubbo has his own life, and a mansion he hasn’t moved into, and a town that Tommy does not belong to, and an allegiance that Tommy does not share. He considers visiting Ranboo, but that’s either the same as visiting Tubbo, or it’s the same as visiting Techno and Phil, or it’s the same as visiting Wilbur.

So he looks at his discs and doesn’t play them, bunches his hands in wool that he has no use for, and calls out to a god he can only now offer false homage. He holds to the past, and wishes he could believe he has a future. Wishes that he didn’t see obsidian and curtaining lava whenever he closes his eyes.

-----

The first time he hears Wilbur play again, he hides in the forest like a fucking coward.

The guitar is strummed hesitantly, haltingly, interspersed with silence every few seconds, as if Wilbur is struggling to find the old positions, struggling to move his fingers just right. He wonders, then, if limbo took away his calluses. He didn’t think to look. Thirteen odd years without playing a guitar is bound to make anyone rusty. Tommy wonders if Wilbur’s fingers will bleed if he presses down on the strings hard enough, and then he banishes the thought from his mind, because something in him revolts at the idea of Wilbur bleeding. Of Wilbur trying and trying to play until he—

There is something to be said, here, about using yourself up in the pursuit of something greater. There is something to be said, here, about holding matches ‘til they burn down to the skin, about stairs without handrails, about things that are never meant to be and yet claw their way into existence anyhow. There is something to be said about pushing too far, too quick, and flying too high.

Wilbur’s not singing. Is just going from chord to chord. And Tommy hides behind a tree, pressing his back against the bark, because it has been so very long. Wilbur didn’t play in Pogtopia. Wilbur barely played in L’Manberg. The last time he heard the twang of this instrument was sitting by a campfire, plans for a van in the works, the night sky starry and welcoming above them, his chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the flames. And Wilbur smiled at them, smiled at all of them, and his voice was light and sure, his notes soaring.

Wilbur’s not singing. After a moment, he starts humming, softly and meandering, and each turn in the melody hits like a wrench, like he’s dragging the notes out behind them, yanking at the tune whenever it goes somewhere he doesn’t like. It’s a lot of leaps and skips and jumps, a lot of highs to lows and then highs again, and something about it sounds like wailing. There are no words, and there is no happiness.

But he’s playing. He’s playing, and does that count for something? There was no music for such a long time, no music in the darkness and no music even in the light, and now there is music in the grey twilight, and it is not happy music but it is music. Wilbur is playing again, and Tommy’s not going to cry, because what kind of pussy cries about hearing a guitar? So he doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t venture out from this spot, either. He stays there, and listens as Wilbur sends his voice shooting up into falsetto and then back down again.

It’s good that there are no words, maybe. They’d be sad. He can tell.

“That sounds nice,” Ranboo says, all of a sudden, and Tommy jolts at the same time that Wilbur’s hand must jerk, a discordant clash of notes, something that can’t even be called a chord. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You didn’t,” Wilbur says, after a pause. Tommy almost creeps out to see his expression, because he can’t picture it. Can’t tell from his voice what his face is doing. “I was just about done anyway.” There is another pause, and a rustle of clothing. Standing. The crunching of leaves underfoot. It’s nearly autumn again, and already the leaves are changing, falling.

It would be wrong of him to resent Ranboo. He’ll never admit it aloud, but he likes him. Rather a lot. Hiding it is probably pointless now, though that doesn’t stop him from trying. But Ranboo is occupying the space that should be his, that once was his. There is a van in a forest, and a guitar song winding its way through the branches and the roots, and everything is different and everything is the same, and the new story is written without him in it. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he thinks it is not this. He thinks it is not to be left behind.

And Ranboo does not know Wilbur well enough to hear the lie in his voice.

They go off together through the trees. Tommy stays. Runs his hand across the tree bark, and tries not to put his emotions into words. Better to let them drift along as is. Better not to give them voice, because whispers turn into shouts all too easily, and there is not enough space here for shouting.

-----

There’s a thing about graves. There’s a thing about graves and who gets one, and who doesn’t.

He didn’t think about it at the time, the fact that Schlatt—Schlatt the tyrant, Schlatt the enemy, Schlatt the man who had Tubbo executed—got a funeral, and a tomb, has one even to this day, and Wilbur got rubble and a room sealed off and untouched. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no burial. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no gravestone to deface or to ornament with flowers or to kick or to scream at or to kneel beside and speak to or to cry or to do any or all of those things. He didn’t think about it at the time, because there was rebuilding, and then there was a house on fire, and then he doesn’t like to think about it.

And there was Ghostbur.

Wilbur hates Ghostbur. It makes him angry, the way that Wilbur hates Ghostbur. Ghostbur was good, and Ghostbur was kind, and Ghostbur tried his best, and Ghostbur did not deserve to die in the way that he did, terrified, with no one there by his side, with only shouted numbers to soothe his terror, and Ghostbur does not deserve to be stuck in a train station for all of eternity. So he makes Ghostbur a memorial, because it’s all he can do, and the first time he’s next to it at the same time as Wilbur, he meets his eyes squarely. A challenge. A dare. And Wilbur looks right back at him, and then to the gravestone, and his lips curl into a sneer.

And he says nothing at all.

He says nothing at all for a long time. Until he does, and it’s all made so much worse.

“Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” Wilbur asks, and it’s all very even and nonchalant, so much so that it might have him fooled if he didn’t know better, hadn’t heard time and time again exactly what Wilbur thinks of the ghost he left behind him.

“The fuck kind of question is that?” he demands.

“An honest one,” Wilbur answers.

“Right,” he says. “Because you don’t lie anymore, or whatever the fuck.”

“I don’t,” Wilbur agrees, and that is a lie. Tommy would be insulted if he weren’t so tired of it. “Really, I’d like an answer.”

“What does it matter?” he snaps. “He’s not here anymore. He’s not here anymore, and you are. No changing that. I’m fucking stuck with you. You’re like, you’re like a leech, you know that? A leech in my brain.”

Wilbur smiles tightly.

“I’d rather be a leech in your brain than dust in the ground,” he says. “Like he is.”

“Shut up,” he grits out. “Don’t—just don’t fucking talk about him.”

“Alright, then,” Wilbur says. “I won’t. If it upsets you that much.”

And he doesn’t. And the grave stays.

And it is not until later that he thinks about the thing about graves again, about who gets one and who does not. There is no grave with Wilbur’s name on it. There was no soil to lay him to rest, only cold, hard stone, a room undisturbed, a monument to destruction. And had there been time, he would have thought about it more. Would have taken it upon himself, perhaps, because the thing is, in the end, that maybe Wilbur deserved better than to be remembered as the man who destroyed his nation. Deserved better than to be remembered solely by the ravine’s dark corridors and the smoke that clung to him like foreshadowing and the way his eyes looked dead, dead, dead for a long time before Tommy watched Phil plunge the sword into his chest.

Because he was not only that. It hurts to think about, how he was not only that. But sometimes, things that hurt to think about ought to be thought about. Because Wilbur was shattered edges that Tommy knows only now that he could not fix, because Wilbur did not want fixing, but Wilbur was also laughter and a gentle hand on his shoulder and the words “I’m proud of you” that lit him up like sunlight, and he was kind and he was kind of a dick and he was brilliant and Prime, maybe Tommy should have known. Should have known that there was going to be a fall. But he looked up to Wilbur like a child to a shooting star, and it’s a long time before children understand that shooting stars aren’t stars at all, and that the wonder of them comes from self-destruction.

But before Wilbur fell, he shone. A beacon in the dark. Hope, freedom. And before he was those things, too, he was Tommy’s brother. Just that, and nothing more, because more was not needed.

And he received no grave.

It’s a question of time again, and a question of mourning, and a question of how he was ever supposed to grieve when there was no time for it at all, and when a ghost shadowed his every footstep and dripped blue from cold fingers and insisted that nothing was ever wrong. But for the first time, he wonders how Wilbur thinks about it. Graves, and ghosts. And who gets a grave, and who does not.

Who is mourned, and who is not.

Who is given up on, and who is not.

The question echoes once again: “Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” And this time, Tommy hears no taunt in it, no mocking, no cruel joke about the ghost who deserved so much better. Only bitterness, and exhaustion, and resignation. Like Wilbur already knew what answer he would be granted.

That’s a realization of some sort, that Wilbur believes he prefers him dead. It’s a realization of some sort, but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s ghosts and there’s graves, and there’s the living and there’s the dead, and both are left waiting for relief that never comes. It’s thirteen years in a train station and it’s months without knowing what to think, without having space to breathe, without being able to process that his brother was unwell and then that his brother was gone. It’s too much time and too little, too much distance and too little, and Ghostbur did not deserve what he got, but neither, he thinks, did Wilbur.

That thought feels right. And wrong all at once. Bitter, heart-wrenching. That Wilbur deserved better. They all did, that he knows—but Wilbur did too. And that thought is muddled up in all the rest, and he doesn’t know what to do with it, but it’s there. If there’s anything to be done with it at all.

-----

Here is a fact: he kept Dream alive for Wilbur’s sake.

Here is another fact: he doesn’t know if he regrets it.

Because here is the thing: he remembers that day, remembers the pain and the fear and the devastation, and he remembers the moment it all turned around, cowering behind Sapnap and behind Eret until the time came to step forward, to take the axe in hand and deliver the blow, to deliver himself to safety, finally, finally. And he remembers the words bitten out from Dream’s mouth, panicked, desperate, and he remembers what he said. He will never forget.

And the decision, in that moment, was far easier than it had any right to be.

It became harder, later. Because he made the decision thinking, in large part, of the person that Wilbur used to be. Of a quick, charming tongue and flashes of smiles and music and song and leadership and knowing what to do, always, and Prime above but Tommy missed that person. And so maybe he deluded himself. Maybe he thought, in that dark room, with the portal swirling behind him and the entire server at his back, that he could get that person again. That Wilbur would return, and that it could all go back to the way it used to be. Discs spinning in the sunrise, the server at peace, his brother with him.

But death put those thoughts to rest.

Because death proved to him that Wilbur had only gotten worse. Because in death, Wilbur was happy he was there, did nothing but talk to him and make him play competitive solitaire as he was torn apart atom by atom. Because Wilbur—he became so very certain that Wilbur, if released, would bring nothing but harm to the server again, would tear everything down, because there was something in his voice, in his eyes—

But that was then. And now, Dream still lives in prison, rots but lives, and Wilbur has a burger van in a forest with a friend and spends most of his days lounging about or making eyes at Quackity or talking up a storm but doing jack shit, and Tommy doesn’t know what to make of it, and doesn’t know how to admit that maybe his idea of what Wilbur would be like and what Wilbur would do wasn’t entirely accurate.

And he still doesn’t know if it was worth it. Worth the constant fear, worth knowing that one day, Dream will be out, will come to him, will try to finish what he started. He tried to prevent it and only made it worse, only led Ghostbur to his doom by his innocent, trusting hand, and Dream resurrected—

A monster, he would have said, once. He no longer knows if that is fair.

Because here is another fact, one that he is only now beginning to understand: Wilbur is very, painfully human. He’s always known, and yet he hasn’t, because once, he thought Wilbur hung the stars and the moon and all things bright and glowing and good, and he thought that Wilbur could never be so human as to be fallible, and then it turned out that he was wrong. And it was easy, in the aftermath of that, to figure that Wilbur was perhaps some kind of monster instead, and everyone around him said as much.

But that, he thinks, goes too far in the other direction.

His hopes will never be realized. He will never have the old Wilbur back. He clings to a past that clings to him right back, that has him in a chokehold and will not let go, but Wilbur is something else entirely. The rest of the past does not live and breathe, is contained in his overflowing chests, in uniforms that don’t fit him, in the church’s empty hall. The rest of the past is made of things he can hold, but he has never been able to hold Wilbur. Not then, and not now. And there is no hope of making of them what they once were.

There is no going back.

So was it worth it, then? To keep Dream alive, and to receive this, this man who varies between manic energy and calculated calm, who speaks with a whip in his tone at some times and unbearable softness at others, who proclaims Dream his hero and then claims he would have killed him, if he could, for what he did? Was it worth it, and is it worth it, and how is something like that measured at all?

Wilbur is a tightness in his chest when he speaks and a ghost that won’t leave and a ghost that died and a thousand words like a thousand stinging hornets and no picture that could encompass all of them, all of what they are and were. Wilbur is Wilbur, and Wilbur is not safe, not anymore, and perhaps Wilbur is not even good—but there, that, that is wrong, and he won’t make this mistake twice. Wilbur is good, it’s just that he’s forgotten that, and Tommy is so, so very tired of having to be the one to try and remind him. And Wilbur is empty space and Wilbur is a space too full and overflowing around the fractured edges, and Wilbur is too bright and too loud and too quiet and too little and too much, and even now, even still, Tommy does not know where they stand.

Was it worth it, to have this?

He doesn’t know. But sometimes, he imagines what it would be like if Wilbur were still dead, if Wilbur were never, ever coming back in any shape, in any form, and his throat closes up and his eyes sting, no matter how much he has laid out his hatred for the man, his regret at going into the prison that day. He tries to imagine a world without Wilbur in it, in which he has given up on Wilbur, and even now he doesn’t like it, even though maybe he should, and that is, perhaps, answer enough.

-----

“Why do you keep coming here?” Wilbur asks him.

“I dunno,” he says, instead of a hundred other things. “Why don’t you ever fucking leave?”

Wilbur just looks tired. There are bags under his eyes. Tommy thinks he can guess why; he so rarely slept during their exile, but Tommy is thinking about limbo, and train stations, and how whenever he closes his eyes, part of him is convinced that his heart has stopped beating. He wonders if Wilbur, for all his sunrise-obsession and constant movement and moments of utter wonderment at the world around him and the way he doesn’t move whenever a creeper approaches him, feels the same way.

“There was a reason I asked Ranboo to do this with me instead of you,” Wilbur says, suddenly, apropos of nothing. Tommy feels himself still. “I mean—actually, I asked Phil, and Phil was all, oh, Wil, go and make friends, and I was like fuck you I’m not twelve years old anymore but Ranboo’s pretty great so it worked out. But I—I guess what I’m getting at is that I don’t get it. Why you choose to keep coming ‘round here anyway.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s not to get?”

Wilbur shoots him a look, eyebrows going up and mouth slanting all sympathetic-like.

“Tommy,” he says, slowly, as if talking to the child that Tommy has not been in a long, long time, “I’m not what you want.”

Several answers form in his head, and then dissipate just as quickly before he’s able to reply. “‘S that right?” he says, and something boils within him, hot and snapping and popping.

“I can see it when you look at me, man,” Wilbur says, and he doesn’t even sound upset. “You’re—and I mean, I don’t blame you for it. I was awful to you, Tommy. I don’t deserve anything less than your scorn. But you and everyone else, you’re all waiting for what I’m going to do next. You’re all waiting with bated breath. Scared of the next disaster I’m going to cause. So you don’t—you don’t have to be here, Tommy. Not if you don’t want to be.”

There are so many things he could say. Your disasters always cause the most damage to yourself, is one of them, and then there’s a simple, you think I don’t know that? Because how many times has he told himself that same thing? That he doesn’t need to be here? That it would be better for him if he wasn’t? And some part of him must listen, because he’s not actually here all that much. He has other things to do. A life outside of this, outside of this forest on the edge of a fake desert and a van that makes pretty shitty burgers and one Wilbur Soot, like a portrait from the past and yet nothing like that at all, because portraits are shadows, still images, permanent and unchanging, with mo mutable future, and Wilbur Soot is none of those things.

He has a life. He has Tubbo, still, even if it’s all changed. He has others. He’s not alone.

Wilbur’s right that he doesn’t have to be here.

“Stop fucking doing that,” he says. “Stop trying to make my decisions for me.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he says. “You always are. It’s my fucking choice whether I want to be here or not. And I’m making that choice. Not you. Me. And sure, maybe one day you’ll manage to get rid of me for good, but you’re gonna have to fucking work at it, and I don’t see you trying.”

“I thought you didn’t want me here, Tommy,” Wilbur returns, and the words seem to fall so effortlessly, like easy acceptance, and why, why is it this of all things that Wilbur seems to take in stride? Why is it this and not a thousand other things? Why is it this and not the fact that despite it all, despite every warning sign and every indication that maybe it might be better for him to give up after all, Tommy is still here?

“I didn’t want you gone, either,” he snaps, and Wilbur falls completely silent. So he continues, because who knows when he’ll have a chance to say this again? That’s the thing about chances; they’re difficult to count, impossible to anticipate, and he bollocksed up the first one he got, to try to break through. “I never wanted you gone in the first place. So maybe I don’t—maybe I don’t fucking know what I want. Because I never got to just live with that. There was never a chance to—there wasn’t even a fucking grave for me to visit. I never got to figure anything out, and now you’re back and nothing’s the fucking same, so maybe I don’t know what I fucking want. Maybe I don’t fucking know if I want you here, but I didn’t want you gone. I didn’t want you to be dead. And then you were. You just were, and I couldn’t—did you expect me to be alright with that?”

It’s a question of mourning, and a question of graves, and a question of chances and who deserves them. And Wilbur just looks confused.

Fuck him.

There’s so much more to say, and he can’t say any of it at all, and the past chokes him like a knot of vines or a clump of flowers in his throat, but he’s still breathing. He’s still breathing, breathes again, whatever, and Wilbur is the same. They’re the same in a lot of ways, maybe. On the other side of the final death, trying to hold onto and release the years gone by all at once. Moving forward, but stuck in quicksand, and they’re never going to get out if they don’t let each other.

“You’re my brother,” he says, and that’s all. As if that explains everything.

And maybe it does.

Wilbur blinks.

“Ah,” he says.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Fucking ah.”

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur says.

“You’d better be,” he says.

And impossibly, the vines uncurl, and the flowers come floating up, and when he takes a step forward, it comes easily.

There is a van in this forest, and it is not the same van. Some distance away, there is a crater in the ground, and nature has draped itself over the ruins of the lives they once had, and the flag still flaps at the bottom, and they are never, ever going to be able to rebuild what they lost. The crater will always be a crater, a scar in the earth. Healing, healed, grown over and stitched shut, but still a scar.

And there is a man standing in front of him who is not the same man that he knew. Not the same man that he claimed for his family, and who claimed him in return.

But he is not the same, either. Perhaps nobody and nothing is. The past clings, and he clings tighter, but perhaps he needs to loosen his grip, because despite everything, there is a future out there, somewhere past the next sunrise. They are going to get older. They are going to live. So he has his discs and his uniforms and his wool and his prayer, and he has this, too, because it is his choice. To take a step forward, and wait to be met in the middle. To dare to turn ahead, to believe that there is something awaiting him. The both of them.

And he thinks he might finally be able to let himself grieve. Grieve, and let go. Grieve the dead, and what they had, and what they might have, and grieve for the fact that there was no grieving, no grave.

And then, let himself hope that they will have better after all.

-----

The next time he hears Wilbur play, he steps out from behind the tree.

And maybe the song is a little less sad.

And maybe nothing will ever be the same as it used to be.

And maybe it will be alright.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #crimebois #/rp #dsmp fic #cat writes fic #long post #sometimes you just. you just gotta write some c!crimebois y'know?

[brendaaaa]

Best Summer Ever (Max Mayfield x fem!Reader)

“This is gonna be the best summer ever!“ Lucas pumped his fist into the air.

He let out a whoop and cannon-balled into the pool, screaming as he went.

“Oh god,” Will covered his eyes. “He’s going to kill himself.”

“Ah, don’t worry, Will the wise,” Mike set a hand on the shorter boy’s shoulder. “He’s fine.”

You peered over the edge, into the pool. “It looks pretty deep.”

You hated deep water. It was pretty much an irrational fear. There was nothing that was going to get you in that water.

You looked over at your girlfriend, Maxine. She was looking hot as ever, with her long red hair in a messy bun and her freckles sprinkled across her sun kissed face. She wore a red bikini, a good look on her, you had to admit.

You look back at the water. It was dark blue, intimidating.

The party was situated in the backyard of Kimmy Taylor, Robin’s super cool (and rich) girlfriend. She absolutely loved the ‘children’ when Robin introduced them, and because Kimmy would be working, she had generously offered her pool to the kids for the summer.

It was pretty awesome, except for the fact that you were scared silly of deep water.

“Hey, El!” Dustin called out, running over to pick up the brunette girl, “let’s get in the water!”

He ran over to the edge of the pool, Eleven shrieking, pretending to be terrified although anyone could tell she wasn’t really, and jumped.

The two made a huge splash when they entered the water, and you shielded your face, although the rest of your body got soaked.

They came up laughing, and smiling.

You grinned too, as their smiles were the most contagious ever, and watched as Will and Mike jumped in as well.

Lucas, already in the water, came up from behind the two boys and started splashing them.

Everyone in the water started hurling water at the others, and it was actually pretty funny for you to watch.

“Hey love,” a voice said in your ear, and you felt soft arms wrap around your middle.

You blushed, and turned to look at your favorite girl. She rested her head on your shoulder, blue eyes smiling up at you.

“We should get in.”

“Wha-?” You said, not really hearing what she had said. Her beautiful face was too distracting.

“I said,” she crinkled up her nose, “we should get in.”

You paled slightly as you realized what she was talking about.

“Uh, no. I- I can’t,” you looked away, breaking eye contact.

“Aw why not love?” She whined, placing her cold hand on your jaw and turning your head back to face her.

You shivered slightly and looked at the pool. It looked like a blue pit. Deep, dark, and ominous.

“I don’t know…” you mumbled.

“Why not?” She said again. “It’s so hot outside. I mean c’mon y/n, I know you wore that bathing suit just for me…,” she said with a smirk, and you reddened, looking down at your rather skimpy one piece, and she continued, “But you wore it to swim too, right?”

Well, yes. But you didn’t know that the pool was going to be this deep!

Aloud you said, “Yeah...I guess,” not wanting to disappoint Max.

“Alright let’s get in then!” She said cheerily, and shook her flip flops off her feet.

You gulped, eyeing the water suspiciously.

“I- I can’t,” you said nervously.

“Oh sure you can,” Max rolled her eyes, “it’s just water, y/n!”

You opened your mouth to say something, and then closed it. As much as you wanted to please her, you knew that there was absolutely no way you were getting in that pool.

No way. You would stay perfectly nice and dry today, thank you very much.

Ironically, just after that thought, your lovely babe decided it would be fun if she pushed you into the pool.

You screamed, flailing your arms as you tumbled down towards the water.

The party all turned to look, some laughing, some smiling, but none appearing distressed.

You belly flopped in, creating a loud smacking sound as you were submerged in the water.

The water was cold, and even though it was miserably hot outside, it was not refreshing or nice at all.

It was freezing and miserable.

You realized with a jolt of panic that you were sinking to the bottom, like a rock.

Your cheeks puffed outwards, trying to hold your breath in, as well as the scream that was just dying to come out.

You kicked upwards quickly, propelling your arms around, trying to get back up to the surface desperately.

It wasn’t that far to the top, and soon you were gasping and coughing up water. Max plopped into the water next you, and wrapped her arms around you.

She leaned her forehead against yours, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Nice in here, right?”

You shook your head wildly, a few tears slipping down your cheeks.

“No, no. I want to get out. Right now!” You hiccuped, still kicking your legs back and forth aggressively, trying to tread water and stay afloat.

Max frowned, a bit concerned by your reaction, “okay…” she said slowly.

She pulled herself out first, and reached a hand out to help you get out. All of a sudden she stopped, peering at you.

“Y/n, are you scared of water?” She asked.

Well yeah, no shit.

You glared at her, “What do you think?”

“I-“

“Yes!” You cried out. “Yes! Of course I’m scared of water, why do you think I didn’t want to jump in?!”

She stared at you, a little unsure of what to say.

“You pushed me in! Why would you do that?!” You cried.

“Y/n,” she started, hands on her knees.

“Get me out!!!” You screeched. “Right now!!”

“Okay okay,” she grabbed your forearms, and pulled you out of the pool, dripping wet.

“You wanna, um, go inside?”

You nodded, huffing.

“Okay, uh, you can do that then. Um, y/n I’m really sorry,” she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I swear if you’d just told me I would’ve never pushed you in,” she said sincerely.

You wiped your face off with your hand.

“I’m going inside,” you said stiffly, and marched off.

The rest of the party watched open mouthed, confused at the scene that had just unfolded.

You stomped into Kimmy’s house, flopping your wet body onto the couch. You groaned, feeling frustrated at your girlfriend and at yourself.

It was dumb that you got so upset with Max. She didn’t mean to push you in. She wasn’t that type of person.

Ugh. Why didn’t you just tell her that you were scared?! Why did your pride have to get in the way?

You groaned again, and clapped a hand over your forehead, covering your eyes from the light flowing through the window.

You surveyed the room. It was pretty nice, with some expensive furniture. Everyone’s clothes were scattered amongst the floor. Your eyes honed in on Max’s purple sweatshirt and brown shorts.

You smirked, getting an idea.

You pulled yourself off the couch, and closed the blinds on the window.

…..

“Is it just me, or did that pool get warmer as we swam in it?” you heard Dustin’s voice.

You were flopped in an armchair, watching tv and cuddled up in an afghan. It was surprisingly cold in the house, due to the air conditioning working overtime in the hot summer heat.

“You were probably just pissing in the pool,” Max retorted.

“Shut up Max,” Mike said. “We just probably got used to the water,” you heard him say to Dustin.

All of the party had shuffled in at this point. They all looked freezing cold, wrapped up in only their swimsuits and towels, shivering in the ac-blasted house.

“Hi, Y/n,” Max said, rather shyly.

You remembered that she probably thought you were still mad at her.

“Hi,” you said, giving her your warmest smile.

She smiled back, looking down at the ground. At least now she knew that you weren’t mad.

“So, who wants some pizza?” Lucas stretched out his arms, “I’m tired, and hungry as fuck.”

“Me too,” El piped up. “Can we get hawaiian please?” She gave Max her best doe eyes.

“Ah fine,” your girlfriend muttered, walking over to the phone.

She picked it up and started to dial the number. Growing up as a teen in the 80s, it was mandatory that you all had the pizza place’s number memorized. You never knew when you might need some fuel, or a pick-me-up.

Max turned back to look at El as she held the receiver up to her ear, “But don’t get that nasty fruit stuff anywhere near me,” she threatened, twirling the cord.

“I won’t,” Eleven smiled. Everyone knew that Max hated pineapple on pizza with a passion.

Max gave the order, and you, El, and the boys pulled out some board games to keep you busy while waiting on dinner.

The seven of you set up the candyland board.

“Why are we playing this?” Lucas deadpanned.

“Cause it’s fun,” Dustin countered.

“It’s a childhood classic,” Will insisted.

“You can cheat,” Mike smirked.

“Queen Frostine is sexy,” Max shrugged.

“It’s so FUN!” El beamed.

“I dunno,” you said. “But everyone else seems to like it.”

Lucas groaned, “Fine. But I better win,” he grinned, and flipped over the first card.

“Hey,” Will complained. “You don’t get to go first! The youngest always gets to first!”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “That’s me!”

And so the party played a rather uneventful game of candyland. Dustin won.

Knock knock knock.

Everyone looked up.

“Pizzaaaaaa,” Dustin said in a whisper, rubbing his hands together.

“I’ll get it!” You offered, standing up, and letting the afghan fall away from your body.

Max smiled at you, then a double take.

“Uh...y/n, are you? Wait a minute…” she eyed you suspiciously. “Are you wearing my clothes?”

“Caught me!” You laughed, and ran off to go meet the delivery guy.

“Hey!” She hollered. “Don’t think you get away that easy!” She was smiling, shaking her head.

“Get back here y/n!”, she giggled.

You ran, laughing and out of breath, to the door. You opened it up, and smiled at the short brunette pizza guy.

“Uh, three pepperonis and one hawaiian?” He confirmed.

“Ding ding ding,” you winked at him, and set the pizzas on the table right beside the door.

“Gotcha,” you felt Max hug from behind. You turned around, and kissed her cheek. “Hang on, I’m paying this dude.”

“Oh no no,” she said, smiling. “You, you are wearing my clothes! Why?” She touched the tip of her nose to yours, scrunching her nose.

You blushed, “Cause...I want to?”

“You look good, miss girl,” she whispered.

You coughed, and turned to the pizza boy and said, “Pay you back later?” as Max started to kiss you.

“Uh, excuse me-” he was cut off by you slamming the door in his face.

You laughed into Max’s lips, “You know, Lucas really was right.”

“What?” Max asked between kisses.

“This...is gonna be the best summer ever!”

Word Count: 1,877

#max mayfield #max mayfield x reader #max mayfield x fem reader #stranger things x reader #max x reader #max mayfield one shot #max mayfield imagine #stranger things imagine #fluff #sorta fluff #stranger things #gay gals #summer of lovin #let the good times roll #it

[uelden]

Vanity Fair interview translated

Just a side note before the actual translation; I don't know why, but instead of reporting the full questions and answers in full as she should, the journalist decided to report only summarized fragments of what Måneskin said and patch these fragments up into messy clusters. She also worded a couple phrases in a very confusing way (and yes, she's fully Italian). In short, she did quite a poor job, so the final shape of the interview is not that good. I didn't expect top-tier journalism from Vanity Fair but ffs. You'll see what I mean.

I translated it as it is, adding just a couple footnotes to give you insight on Italian pop culture references.

Translation under the cut

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

by Lavinia Farnese, 09 June 2021

"True justice is being judged for what you do and not for what you are." The ones who are convinced of this are Damiano, Victoria, Ethan and Thomas who, by being the emblem of a generation that is finally free, refuse labels and conformism. In life, in love and on the stage. Where, maybe precisely because of this, they're winning everything

With the still unexpected (first place at Sanremo Festival) and the incredible (triumph at Eurovision) in their eyes, Måneskin are on the sofa of the house-studio they rented - to resume writing songs and rehearsing them - like you are after a won battle: lying in a calm and unreal silence, alert and a bit irreverent, happy.

In the garden there's the tennis table and the pool, the light of summer when it's starting and calming the country all around, and it filters inside from the large windows, and it goes onto the shining black of Ethan's hair, which blends with Thomas' eye shadow and the butterfly he has tattooed oh his naked forearm, which completes the picture of Victoria's golden crucifix hanging between neck and tank top and ends on the black nail polish of Damiano's stretched hands.

It's a human fresco, a Theatre of wrath [translator's note: "Teatro d'ira"] - to call it with the title of their latest album, a platinum record already - where their flaunted 20 years of age, their irregular femininity and virility are grown into proud and challenging custom, a pop glam rock generational manifesto of hard-earned liberties in a finally-unconditional expression of the self.

To watch them from any angle and from another age is to think that a great love will be born in those who'll understand: this new way of being in the world, the true and sovereign realm they hold where "diversity=exceptionality", the power of the artistic and cultural revolution of which they are healthy carriers in establishing in all lyrics and gestures the right to live according to one's own nature past the "people (who) talk, the people (who) unfortunately talk, and don't know what the fuck they're talking about." [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

We go where we're afloat, where the air isn't gone. [tn: journalist's own variation on "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

Miley Cyrus says hi – The numbers of a phenomenon

"The streams of Zitti e buoni are growing by the second, and they bring us above Muse, at the top of English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. Followers almost tripled, in the post-Rotterdam period (from 1,4 to 3,3 millions, ed.) Contagious and universal folly: t-shirts and merchandising sold out in 10 minutes. Like the records, the tickets for a tour that keeps adding dates and expanding over geographic maps. They're contacting us even from some festivals were The Rolling Stones went." Thomas

"After the pretextual controversy over cocaine that France built against us, later disproven by my drug test, some graffiti popped up in Spain depicting me as a “No drugs” poster guy. Some tweets made us laugh: "Congratulations, Italy! I've never been more certain that four people have had sex with each other." Miley Cyrus started following us -You're great. -You guys are greater." Damiano

From the garage to the stars – Story of a flight

"It was only 2016, and we played in restaurants, in the streets, in via del Corso. Damiano without even a microphone, Thomas' guitar with wonky strings, Ethan was drumming on a cajón. During Rome highschools' sit-ins (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first confirmations and half-hours of celebrity, playing among those who criticized us and those who went "wow they're really cool." One of the rare times when they would have paid us – 50 euros each – we gave the money to the next band in the lineup so that they would make us play in their spot, later in the day, when there would have been more people. We had already realized how things worked. Visibility mattered more than money. And we still think that." Victoria

The intimacy of rock – Choice of a genre

"Music allows us the miracle of extending to others some very personal and private topics, sometimes even difficult and thorny ones. They are and they remain deeply your own, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage that is alike a delivery, they find a place in you as well, a processing of them. You overcome them, you accept them. One second it's something aggressive, the next it's a ballad. Cathartic». Damiano

Against panic – The stage as therapy

"I've suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it's an issue I've worked on thanks to a psychotherapy course, my friends and my family. Playing helped me in not letting myself be paralyzed by my fears, not making myself limited in my private and professional life. I've learned to accept, to live with this side of myself. I don't hide it. I don't feel ashamed of it." Victoria

Analysis as necessity – Relying on someone saves you

"This belief that only madmen go to the psychologist is a widespread ignorance. No-one's born learned. [tn: common Italian saying] And it's often hard to understand the very reason why we're here, let alone the origin and direction of our desires. It's a long and legitimate journey towards lucidity, a kind of backing to become transparent." Damiano

Being out of our minds – But different from them [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

"When you feel a strong passion towards something that is not a canonical job but an artistic language, that already puts you on a level of anomaly, which is not superior or inferior to other people, but it puts you in the position of the one who breaks the mold and also works at a loss, the one who sustains great risks while trying to do something that who knows if it will take you anywhere. "Why do it if it doesn't pay?". You want to give this dream of yours an aesthetic, but it becomes "You're dressing so weird! You must be gay!" - now that I'm 22 I laugh about it, but when I was 17 it had an effect on me, too." Damiano

The beauty of uniqueness – Of believing in it and defending it

"And I mean, at the end of the day if we're all different it's not because we want be alternative but because, really, no-one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty." Ethan

Fluid sexuality – Pride is freedom

"Heels for men that like themselves in them, kisses among ourselves, we have an open, extended mind, and we're proud of it. The horizons become vast, past the oppression of conservative families. With the information on the web knowledge becomes greater and with it the possibility that minorities will be less and less minorities, because the majority will be less of a majority. This way we'll make insults and bullying grow quieter. If social media get to a village of 50 souls and reveal to a girl who's afraid of the dark that someone has felt her same fear, then there's no reason to give a name to that fear, to mark it with labels which also limit and restrict. Definitions always had this effect on me. You shouldn't even consider the gender when judging someone, let alone their orientation." Victoria

Sexism – A culture to be dismantled

"Emma [tn: Emma Marrone, Italian singer] drops the bomb: “At Eurovision when I was there they massacred me for a pair of shorts, while they said nothing to Damiano – bare-chested and in heels.” The easy judgment against women is more fierce, constant, debasing (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool while Vic is a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader while Vic is despotic and a pain in the ass who reached success because she's hot.) As a male I'm privileged, the abuse I get is not comparable to those a woman has to live through, the comments over my aesthetic are centered only on my aesthetic and don't insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thought in a systematic way. It happened though to find myself standing with a woman who while pulling me to herself to take a selfie, started licking my face out of the blue... I mean, what the hell do you want? Who asked you? Consent exists, and it's due." Damiano

Grow yourself – The only commandment

"To me conformism is the opposite of education [tn: could also mean "politeness"] and is the asphyxia of expression. I fortunately never endured heavy bullying, heavy enough for the the judgement of others to change me. But the mold of the small crumbs of bullying I got and of the kind of aggression that scars is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and likes dolls you have to let me do what I like. I was a kid who wanted to keep his hair long and played with Barbie. As a teen, my friends looked at my hair: " You have to find a girl with short hair to be at your side." My grandparents took away my dolls: "Stop it, they're not for you." Ethan

"When I was six I was already sick of them, the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things that were typically defined as girly, and all around me they mocked me because I went skateboarding, I played soccer, I didn't wear skirts, I was giving myself the chance to be as I wished. I endured it a little, I suffered a little, but I had courage, and now thanks to that courage I know that I could have gotten even much more hurt, otherwise I would have left to others the most important choice: the one about myself." Victoria

Love in progress – Music, girlfriends

"I've been married to music for the last 20 years. I can't wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary." Ethan

"Everyone makes their own experiences, sometimes it goes well, sometimes it goes wrong, but it's always not anybody's business." Thomas

"When I first felt feelings and attraction towards a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage of going beyond the limitations I had put for myself. For society being heterosexual is the norm and so you often define yourself in that way automatically, depriving yourself of the freedom to live many shades and faces of love. Once I overcame the initial insecurity of having to call into question my certainties I've lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone." Victoria

"I had paparazzi at my door every day and night. So, after four years of relationship, I revealed her name. I still have paparazzi at my door every day and nigh, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore." Damiano

The worth of the group – Phenomenology of protection

"The true engagement though, the true family is among ourselves, our band. We've believed in it since day zero, even before we called ourselves Måneskin (Moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon on the flier for the first concert we ever did. We share everything, even the pain for the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because of racism. [tn: I think the journalist asked them their opinion about Seid Visin's death, which was a current events topic in Italy, and then pasted it syntaxically in the middle of Thomas' answer, which was not a great move] A group is what we all should be: stay united and not back down an inch in the face of oppression that is generated by a distorted view of diversity." Thomas

I'm not of the right age – Like Gigliola [tn: Gigliola Cinquetti won Eurovision with her song "Non ho l'età", which means "I'm not of the right age"]

"Before you the only one who won both Sanremo and Eurovision on the same year was Cinquetti (1964). If there's anything I feel I'm not of the right age for? No, honestly no. Maybe having children. Regarding children I'll be honest: I'm not of the right age." Damiano

Having touched the sky – The fears that remain

"We're more than inside the dream, we're in the conquered dream. When you fly high there's the risk of plummeting and hurting yourself, but we'll work hard not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - a bit pretentiously - reassures us rather than scaring us." Damiano

#maneskin #måneskin #vanity fair #italian #translation

[jiilys]

warm front

featuring The Line, also on ao3 here

//

“You’re a lot better at this than Ron.” Harry said into the phone.

 “Well that’s not hard,” Ginny said, not mentioning how she still occasionally picked up the receiver upside down. “Speaking of, he’s started growing a moustache since you left. It’s ghastly.”

 “Oi!” Ron’s voice, annoyed, in the background. Harry grinned.

 “Oh yeah?”

 “It looks like he’s got biscuit crumbs on his upper lip.” Harry laughed, and Millie glared at him from behind the post office counter, “Oh, lovely, he’s giving me the finger.”

 “I’ve started growing a bit of a beard actually.”

 “Come off it.”

 “Feeling left out?” Harry joked

 Ginny snorted. “Yes, desperately. Isn’t it hot?”

 “Well I think so.”

 She laughed, clear and quick, and Harry could imagine her, all limb, leaning against the kitchen cupboard curling the phone wire around her wrist. He’d bought the phone as a bit of joke before he’d left, and then as a joke she’d installed it, and then for a joke he’d rung her, and then this was how they talked now. Arthur had apparently worn a suit when the electrician came to install the power plug.

 “Isn’t it hot though? Bill says Australian summers are killers”

 Harry looked at Teddy, sat on the post office floor in nothing but shorts sucking an ice-pop. “I’ve been sunburnt in places I never have been before, but it’s mostly fine.”

 “Wow, sexy.”

 “Bet Ron loved hearing you say that to me.”

 “I’m sorry Harry, you want to do what to me? Put that where?” 

 “Gin-“

 “No, we couldn’t in my room, there’s not enough room. Lounge is better, more space. On the dining table.”

 Harry could hardly talk. “Stop,” he choked, “He’ll never speak to me again.”

 “He left when I said the bit about the lounge, said I was being ‘very immature.’”

  //

 Andromeda, desperate to get out, away, gone, bought the land in Australia six months after the war ended. She’d said it was because she’d always liked the heat, but when Harry got there he knew why. He’d never seen anywhere so unlike England, the Australian countryside was all scorched earth, red dirt, dry trees. It could have been a different planet entirely.

 He’d followed her six months later to be with Teddy, who at almost a year had hair permanently sunshine yellow, except when it rained it went as grey as concrete. Harry liked the spiders, sand, sunburn of it all. Sometimes, dumbly, he found himself missing sheets of rain, but only when it was so hot he could barely see straight.

 Mostly he liked how there was nothing to do there, nowhere he had to be. He was teaching himself how to drive, burying things for Teddy to sniff out (dog nose), going into the tiny town to talk to Ginny on the post office phone, and helping Andromeda build a shed out the back. He’d never used magic less. The days were long and the nights were longer, but it was so different here that that too felt right.

 He didn’t know when he’d go home. He kept meaning to set a date and then just didn’t, and then everyone stopped asking. It was stupid, but he felt like he’d know when he was done.

 //

 “Dad won’t let me see the phone bill,” Ginny said, picking up on the third ring and not saying hello, “It arrived this morning and he’s been locked in his office all morning with it.”

 “Oh, God, I can-“

 “Don’t you dare offer to pay for it. I don’t even think it’s that much, I think he’s just trying to recreate the logo at the top or something.”

 “I-“

 “Stop trying to pay for it- “

 “I’m not– “ Harry, who had been, was silent. Then: “Gin, please-“

 “No- “

 “But- “

 “Shut up-“ she said, unbothered, “Mum asked if you got the stuff she sent.”

  “I did, the biscuits were excellent. And the tea bags” Harry had cleaned out the tin so Teddy could use it as a hat, which he had been wearing for two days now.

 “I told her they already had tea in Australia but she didn’t believe me.”

 Harry smiled, “I didn’t mind.”

 “She said that even if they did have tea they wouldn’t have English Breakfast, or they would call it something crazy like ‘Australian Outback Breakfast’.”

 “How thoughtful of her.”

 “Stop being nice about it, it’s ridiculous.”

 “It was nice of her.”

 “Australian Outback Breakfast, Harry”

 “I hate tea and hate that it was graciously sent to me by your mum.” Harry obliged.

 “There we go. Killed any snakes yet?”

 “Oh yeah, loads. Bears too.”

 He could hear her smiling, “Bears, huh?”

 “All in your honour.”

 “Naturally. Still no success in seducing Millie?”

 Harry looked around to the post office reception desk, a stones-throw away from the phone, to where Millie– middle-aged, cardiganed, glasses– was pretending to read the paper and not hate him.

 “Haven’t you heard? Wedding’s in the Spring.”

 “Damn. Well, we had it good there for a while but true love always wins.”

 He laughed, and Millie gave him a look. He waved. She ignored him and went back to the paper.

 //

 Ron sent letters, barely legible, by owls that had to be nursed back to health in the bath.

 Harry, 

 Sorry for the writing but I’m on the muggle train because we’re going to Ireland for a few days to stay with her Hermione’s Aunt because she’s ‘dying to meet me’ (???). Anyway, Hermione also says to tell you that Ginny is thinking of cutting a fringe, because apparently that’s important. Apparently girls do that in a crisis, or whatever, she’ll write and explain it. 

 Ginny is basically living at ours now. The other day she put a Hollyhead Harpies poster up in the living room and when I tried to charm it off all the players screaming at me like Sirius’s fucking mum, so I just moved the cabinet in front of it. Bloody nightmare. 

 Honestly it isn’t even half bad having her around, she knows all these drinking games and set up your room and sometimes has a go reading over Hermione’s policy reports to the Ministry when I’ve sworn off them. Do not tell her I don’t mind her being round she’ll be annoying about it. I’m getting that Harpies poster off the wall.

 Hope Teddy is good and everyone is demanding more photos as usual. All Victorie has to do is chew the carpet around here and everyone gets a bit teary, including me. George jinxed Perce’s glasses into binonoulars the other day and for a weird second everything felt like before and Vic giggled and then George looked like he’d been hit the fucking nightbus. I don’t even know how to explain it– kids really just have no idea about any of it. 

 Hope Andromeda is good and that the driving is going better. Dad’s framing all of the phone bills he gets which Gin probably already mentioned but I can’t tell you how weird it is to go into my old room and it’s just a bunch of framed bills. Hermione says hello which I’ve already written but she said I didn’t make it clear enough. 

 We miss you mate. Home soon yeah? 

Ron 

  //

 Often, he thought of the week he’d told them he was leaving. Hermione, drunk, talking to Ginny on the patio of the burrow when she thought everyone was inside. It makes sense, really, she’d said, He’s never been anywhere he wasn’t hunted too. Ron had looked at him and then loudly dropped his firewhiskey and the girls had jumped, turned around, stopped talking, but still. He’s never been anywhere he wasn’t hunted too. Huh.

 //

 “How’s driving?”

 “Oh, fine. I killed a swan.” Harry said, demoralised. Ginny laughed for a good two minutes.

 “What?” 

 “I hit the wrong pedal and speed up instead of slowing down. I didn’t know what to do so I just moved it off to the side of the road.”

 “Ah, the Boy who Lived strikes again.”

 “Stop,” He was smiling, “What if Teddy had seen it?”

 “He’s not even two. He probably would have thought it was, like, having a lie down or something.”

 Harry was laughing now, “A lie down?”

 “Yeah, a spontaneous, truck-induced–“

 “–Permanent–“

 “–Permanent, lie-down. I’m almost jealous now actually.”

 //

 Andromeda was in her garden a lot. Getting anything to grow was near impossible, but she wouldn’t stop working at it. She kept saying that soon they’d be able to have a green beans salad, so Harry just drove to a market and stuck a few green beans in the ground to make her laugh. As a sort of joke they’d started calling the land ‘the farm’ even though nothing ever grew here.

 They took Teddy to the ocean for the first time and his eyes went blue the second he saw it. The beach where they’d buried Dobby was overcast, water as grey as dishwater, but here the it glittered like glass, blue light come alive. Teddy sat in the shallows, trying to flatten waves with his fists, laughing.

 Andromeda sat on a towel by the dunes under an enormous hat, tears running down her face, abruptly laughing when Teddy tried to eat sand or fell over a sandcastle. Harry knew how she felt. Impossible, how two years ago Teddy had two living parents and Harry had been seventeen, dead and walking, and now they were sat on the beach, people they loved dead for real, as Harry and Teddy lined up shells on the shore.  

 //

 It was three in the morning but Harry snuck in through a backdoor, cloak on, having to jimmy the lock because he forgot his wand. The streets were pitch black, only three streetlights in the whole main street, with two of them not working anyway.

 “Why’re you awake?” Ginny said lightning quick, knowing the time difference by heart, and Harry’s chest unlocked. It was stupidly comforting, Ginny’s voice, how she never said hello on the phone because she never learned, how if he really made her laugh she’d hold the receiver away from her, like he wasn’t desperate to hear it.

 “I thought I saw Sirius today,” he couldn’t stop himself, “There was a dog on the farm and it was huge and I thought– I forgot he was dead. Isn’t that stupid?”

 There was only Ginny’s breath down the phone. Picture: her in the kitchen, gripping the receiver, still. The memory looped in his brain, how Sirius’ name had risen in his throat, how odd it felt there, how long it had been since he’d said it aloud. 

 “No.” He almost didn’t hear her it’s so quiet, “I went to the shop yesterday and asked Ron if Fred was in the back. I forget too.”

 His heart slowed, the memory of the shop: solid and real, running again, made for laughing, rose up, only then he shut his eyes and saw everyone laid out in rows, glassy eyes, and somehow he was walking through the forest again, going to die, but not soon enough– 

 “Harry.” Ginny’s voice, dragging him back to earth, “You did everything you could. Sirius knew. Everyone knew. No one could have done better.” She sounded so sure, voice as clear as glass, he’d be a fool not to believe her, “It hurts because they loved us. They loved us. That’s the part to remember.”

 //

  “You are kidding-!” This time Harry didn’t say hello.

 “I’m sorry, who is this?”

 “Harpies reserve!” Harry was yelling in the post office and Millie looked appalled, “They’ll promote you in two weeks, you genius, I knew it– “

 “I’m sorry I really have no idea who this is.”

 “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything.”

 “I sent the letter!” Ginny dropped the joke, indignant.

 “We spoke two days ago! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me then–”

 “–I sent our fastest owl.”

 “Marius is currently passed out in the sink–“ 

 Ginny laughed, “I wanted you to get the letter,” she said, finally, “I wanted you to see it. Did you see Madeline McKinnon signed it?”

 She sounded like a kid. He grinned. “I did.”

 “Best beater this century sent a letter to my house, asking me to be on her team. Madness. The English team are after her you know, it’s all over the Prophet.” 

 “I hope you’re not expecting me to send the letter back because I think that really will finish Marius off.”

 “Please, you think I sent the real thing? Dad made twenty copies. He hung two on Ron and Hermione’s fridge and sent one to Aunty Muriel.”

 Harry grinned, “You’re brilliant, I’m hanging my copy on the front door, framed.”

 “The moving logo may cause problems for the muggles”

 “Who cares? I want to tell everyone about this. Chaser for the Harpies–“

 “I’m a reserve.”

 “For now.” He could hear her smile through the phone, “What did everyone say?”

 “Ron said I was a traitor and that he was also proud. Mum cried. Hermione promised to actually watch a game, George reminded me about nicking his broom all that time so technically he was also partly on the team, Bill bought a season pass, Charlie hung a giant Harpies poster in his shite apartment and sent a photo, Luna sent me awful flowers that won’t stop smoking, and Percy called to congratulate me on my admission to the ‘Hollygrove Harps.’”

 Harry laughed, “Incredible.”

 “Yeah, Perce’s was particularly heartfelt.”

 //

 Harry, 

 I’m sat at the dining table and everyone’s still here, but Mum wanted me to recap Charlie’s birthday dinner right now because she doesn’t want you to miss anything. Hermione also agreed with this mental idea. 

 Dinner Summary: 

Food was good 

Hermione tried to explain the electric collage or whatever decides American elections to Dad, it was stupid.

Hermione says it was electoral college not the eccentric cage or whatever I wrote

George got Charlie a life-size model of the Horntail that he almost opened in the house. Mum had a fit.

Dad told a story about how the Muggle Foreign Minister ended up with a bathtub cursed to drown anyone in it. 

Ginny wants me to say Percy is wearing a cardigan Millie would be proud of. I do not know what this means. Better not be a sex thing.

Hermione says hello (again she insisted I write this down like it isn’t obvious)

Mum wants me to say we all miss you still (again, obvious) 

She also wants to know if you need her to make you any shorts (do not answer this) 

Charlie wants to say cheers for the gift – apparently they only do that burn cream in Australia and it’s hard to come by 

George doesn’t have anything to say he just wanted to be involved so I’ve written this so he’ll bugger off. 

 I’m bloody sending this now, I feel like a quick quotes quill (Fleur asks how you are). Have a good one mate. 

 Home soon yeah? 

Ron. 

//

 Sometimes, when he was driving home from the post-office just after the sunset, everything sat in the new-dark, he’d remember when he used to be on watch, sat in front of the tent holding Hermione’s wand with everything going wrong, and how only then he’d let himself think about Ginny. Her voice, long laugh, longer legs, telling him to move over, pass the milk, look left, met her later, skip that flashcard, relax, put Luna in as chaser if it all goes arse up– she’s Ravenclaw but I’ll vouch for her. Dumb hours spent on the Quidditch pitch, sun going down, watching her get shot after shot past him like she even needed the practise. C’mon Potter at least try to save these, you’re making Ron look like Wood. Her hair everywhere, laughing, head back, both of them impossibly far from the ground

 I really don’t want to die, Harry would think in the dark, wand out, ready for it, I really don’t want to die and miss out on you

 //

 Harry, 

 Sorry I couldn’t call but everything’s been nuts here and I wasn’t sure when I’d get to talk to you. Malcotti’s fucked her ankle so I may actually get put in for a game?? She’s been told to take it easy for a week and we play the Magpies in four days, so?? I’ll let you know when I can call. I’m currently writing this at the post-office desk and running late for practise.

 Sidenote: this express owl cost me four galleons so I hope it does a dance on its arrival or at least arrives within the day. Tell Andromeda hello and that I’m still rooting for the green beans. Also, good luck for the driving test!! I’m sure you won’t hit anything living or dead and/or drive into a lake, but also if you do just confund the instructor. I solemnly swear not to tell Hermione.  

 Thinking of you. Kiss Teddy for me, 

Gin

 //

 The click of the receiver: “I only have five minutes, we’re about to eat.”

 Harry smiled, “How’s home?”

 “Absolutely nothing to note. Victorie threw up on Bill yesterday, so that was a joy.”

 “Supportive as usual.”

 “Hey, I am supportive.” Harry could tell the phone was jammed between her shoulder and her ear, heard a knife on a cutting board, “Supportive of Victorie’s right to throw up on Bill whenever she wants.”

 “Are you cooking?”

 “I’m cutting potatoes by hand to avoid the lounge because Fleur and Mum are talking about how to discipline children.”

 “Sounds tense.”

 “You don’t know the half of it. Ron had to pretend to be on the phone with you earlier for ten minutes just to get out of there. He says hi– fuck!” 

 Harry heard the phone fall, “Ginny?”

 A scrambling on the other end, distantly: “You’re bleeding on the potatoes!”

 “Hi,” Ginny’s voice, a little breathless, “I cut myself.”

 “You alright?” Harry asked, quick-shot.

 “Oh, yeah. Just blood. Admirably everyone is showing a lot of concern” (Percy’s voice, distant and mournfully, “well there’s no way we can eat these now”) 

 //

 He thought about going home sometimes, about the flat with Ron and Hermione he was currently paying for that he’d never lived in, what he’d do back in England. No one had ever come out to visit him here, some unspoken agreement they’d all made to give him space. Except, knowing Ron and Hermione and Mrs Weasley and he’s never been anywhere he wasn’t hunted to it probably was very much spoken, it’s just he wasn’t there for it.

 The thing is, if he went home that meant no more seeing Teddy every day, sitting around eating cereal, watching him walk into walls or turn his nails pink, giving him ice cream for lunch and strap him into the truck, driving around the farm doing spins just to make him laugh. Even after all this time Australia was so far from the familiar, every night him and Andromeda sat on the deck lazily casting cooling charms, looking at all the stars.

 On full moons Teddy got in bed with all the curtains open, blinds up, just to look at the moon. He couldn’t sleep unless he saw it. Harry wondered if he ever did anything like that, got pulled towards something of his parents without realising it. Quidditch, probably. Looking for something without knowing, not sure what you were really missing. Teddy’s huge eyes, the moon, and that familiar feeling: Stop, wait, I can’t believe I’ll never see you again. Come back, I wasn’t done yet. I don’t know how to do it without you.

 //

 It was pitch-black, four in the morning Queensland time, but it had been the only time she’d had free. Harry was leaning against the booth wall, letting the cloak slip, exhausted. Ginny cleared her throat in an odd way.

 “So, you know I hate asking about this. It makes me– I don’t want to be that person” She sounded, wrong, uncomfortable, like white knuckles gripping the receiver, “But everyone’s been asking and I want– when do you think you’ll be coming home?”

 Harry was quiet. All this time away– almost a year, eleven months, it occurred to him– and she’d never asked. She was the only one who hadn’t. “Oh, I don’t know. Soon, I guess.”

 “Yeah.” She said, unreadable. A beat went past, and Harry could feel the shift, how that was the wrong thing. He could hear her breathing. “Do you want– if you want, we could take a break-“

 “No” Harry said, so fast, “No, no I don’t want that. Do you want that?”

 “No. No. I just– I don’t want this to be difficult. I don’t want you to feel, like– obligated. If you want like room away from everything I get it. Just tell me– I don’t want– Just tell me.”

 Harry’s heart was going into his chest like an endlessly slamming door. How to explain it? You wouldn’t believe the space here, all this room, all this time I have. I didn’t think I’d get it. I want space but never from you. 

 “I’m not with you because I feel obligated. I’m– That isn’t how I feel. I don’t want space or a break or anything.”

 Silence, endless, pouring down the phone. He could be sick. Then, Ginny’s voice: “Okay.”

 “I’m coming back to England, Gin. I’m coming back, just, when I’m– when I’m done. I’m coming home. Soon.”

 “Okay. I just wanted to make sure that this– that this is still good.”

 “It is.” He was so stupid. A war ends and everything finally works out, everyone safe for real, and he goes running to the other side of the world and doesn’t say when he’s coming home. Ginny, at home, getting a phone wired up just to call him. He had no luck for seventeen years and then it all came at once, and now he doesn’t know what to do with it.

 “I love you,” he said, which he never said because it felt heavy, full of gravity, and he spent all his time trying to make her laugh.

 Deep breath. He could hear her shoulders unknotting through the phone. “I love you too.”

 //

 “Harry?”

 “Ron?”

 “Can you hear me? Is this?– how do I know if this is on?”

 “It’s on,” Harry said, hurriedly, “Is everything alright?”

 “I tried to give Pig a letter for you this morning and he bit me and flew into the window.” Harry started laughing, “So I thought I’d try give him a break.”

 Harry pulled himself together, ���Yeah maybe that’s for the best. How are you?”

 “Oh, the usual. The shop is still nuts so Hermione stopped by to help out on Saturday and ate half a Bile Biscuit thinking it was shortbread– hilarious. George threatened to charge her. If Ginny’s not at a practise she’s at our place drinking all the milk, and Luna came by the other day and threw all the stuff in the fridge out because she said it was infected with ‘Mimilice’. You?”

 “The same. Teddy turned his leg into the end of a snake the other day and I had a fit. Andromeda put him in the sink so he couldn’t slither away before phasing back. It’s currently 39 degrees.” Ron laughed.

 “God, even your voice sounds hot.”

 “Woah, mate. I’m seeing someone and so are you.”

 “Ha ha.” Ron said sarcastically, “I wish I could turn this up so everyone in the empty living room could have heard that.”

 “Please don’t try to use the speaker phone, you’ll accidentally dial the embassy or something.”

 “’Speaker phone’? What could the phone have to say?”

  //

 Teddy turned two and Andromeda make him a cake by hand with a spider on it that moved. He blew out the candles and looked bemused, sat in a top Hermione had sent, still holding onto a scrap of ribbon. Harry took him outside and sat him on his Nimbus Seven Series, entirely too long, and Teddy did slow circles while Harry held the end, watching him laugh, tiny hands grasping the handle. Suddenly, like being thrown through a window, Remus was in front of him, standing in the Hogwarts Hallway, breathless and happy, saying his sons name.

 //

 The post office has been closing for a good fifteen minutes, but Harry brought the cloak, pretended to leave, then snuck back and picked up the phone again.

 “I think I just saw Millie’s husband.”

 “You’re kidding.”

 “A guy came to pick her up, he had a hat on, she got in the front seat–“

 “What kind of hat?”

 “I don’t know, normal. Like a normal old-person hat.”

 “You didn’t say he was old.”

 Harry grinned, “You really thought Millie seemed the type to be with a 25-year-old?”

 “Hey, you’re going out with me after all–“

 Harry spluttered, “I’m a year older!”

 “Year and a half–“ 

 “You’re unbelievable. That is not the same.”

 “Just because you like younger women–“

 “I don’t like younger women, I like you, or I did until a few minutes ago. I’m now reconsidering.”  

 “You like me.” Ginny said, not really serious but also deadly so.

 Harry smiled, said dryly, “What gave me away?”

 //

 Harry had started dreaming of home, the staring in the street, dishes washing themselves in the Burrow, Hogwarts lake dark and silky as eels. He couldn’t tell what had brought this on, only that he was now driving into town every day to talk to Ginny, and now Ron, Hermione, even Neville were coming to the phone.

 “They miss you” Andromeda said, unprompted, drinking muggle wine on the deck one night after dinner, “Molly wrote last week asking if you mentioned when you’d be coming back.”

 “Oh,” Harry said, because he couldn’t think of anything else. “Do you think you’ll come back?”

 The question hung between them. Terrible thought: Teddy never back in England, Teddy growing up where Harry couldn’t see him.

 “I will.” She looked back at him, unbearably, and it was everything that went unsaid. 

 “How?” Harry asked, unthinking.

 Andromeda looked back out the window, the pressing dark, the unbearable heat. Even after all this time, making dinner, sitting on the dark deck, weeding the garden, she was still unreadable. Grief undid you in layers.

 “Because Nymphadora would want me to.” She said, simply. “Because I want her to think I’m brave.”

 //

 The post office shuts for a week because Millie goes out of town, and the place is small enough that that means it’s not open till she gets back. Harry makes it four days before apparating hundreds of miles away, almost splinching himself in the heat, dizzy from lack of practise, and stumbling to a payphone at the side of a highway. 

 Click. “Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

 “Yeah, I went out of town to call.”

 “Out of town huh? Miss me that much?” Ginny’s voice, joking.

 Unbelievably, Harry thought. “Yeah well, Teddy isn’t much of a conversationalist.”

 “Don’t let him hear you say that, you’ll knock his confidence.”

 “He’ll get past it. How are you?”

 “Fine. Well– actually, you won’t believe what happened at practise on Thursday, I hope you’re sitting down–“

 “I’m not–” Harry grinned

 “Squat then,” Ginny said blithely, “because Jacqueline has actually gone full bonkers–“

 //

 “My parents say its incredible “ Hermione’s voice, the only person in his life who spoke in a normal tone on the phone

.

“Yeah, we’ve been actually.” Harry didn’t have the heart to tell her that Teddy had found the Great Ocean Road blindingly boring and had only made it an hour in before him and Andromeda had decided it wasn’t worth the screaming anymore.

 “Yeah, Mum and Dad were thinking of coming down, doing it again.”

 Harry played along, “Yeah?”

 “Yeah.” She was endearingly fake-casual, “Maybe Ron and I would come too.”

 “Ron wants to drive 150 miles along a stretch of boring road with your parents?”

 “You didn’t say it was boring.”

 “Slip of the tongue,” Harry smiled, “What about the Ministry? And the shop?”

 “We’re thinking about doing travelling.”

 “The year we spent in a tent in various country-sides not enough?”

 “Funnily enough seeing the sights wasn’t top of mind then.”

 Harry smiled darkly, “If we’re going travelling let’s do Italy, or America, or something. Soon. Somewhere none of us have ever been.”

 Hermione left it a beat too long for it to be a normal silence, “I heard Italy is beautiful, the history there is incredible…”

 Harry could almost hear talking to Ron later: “and then he said if we’re going travelling, ‘we’re’, Ron! And ‘soon’! he thinks he’ll be travelling with us ‘soon’!. And Ron, “so you didn’t ask when he’s coming back then?, and then Hermione: “didn’t you hear? soon! He said soon!”   

 //

  He was walking back to the car from the post office one day, Teddy plodding beside him infatuated with a passing goose, with Ginny’s voice still swimming around him, the sound of Ron telling her to shut up, pass the receiver, I’ve got to tell him the Cannons score, and he walked into the travel agents and booked one-way ticket to England for next week. Just like that.  

 Stupid, really, how he heard their voices all the time (walking in the street, making a sandwich, fixing the plumbing) but had never made the connection. He was in the street like always, hearing the call all again, and thought I wish they were here for real, and then walked into the air-conditioning and pulled out his chequebook. It really was that easy. The goose was still outside when he left holding his ticket, Teddy squirming to get closer to it with a full-on beak that Harry was trying to hide with one hand.

 Home soon Harry thought the whole drive home, the thought expanding in his chest, the window open, his hair blowing everywhere– longer than it had ever been. Even when he got back to the farm, told Andromeda (who promised to follow in a year), made dinner, went to bed, he imagined he would feel different. Something huge and unfelt before, but really everything was the the same as ever. He just missed them, is all. He was learning that sometimes love really was that simple, that it was reason enough.

 //

 “I read that people sometimes make signs at airports.”

 Harry smiled, phone cord wrapped around his palm. “Saying what?”

 “Guess you’ll find out tomorrow.”

 “Oh, God.”

 “Don’t worry, no magic involved. We don’t want to alarm the muggles. Luna asked if she could bring her lion hat but Hermione got intervened.”

 “Luna’s coming?”

 “Yes, duh. Everyone is. It’s been a year a half.”

 Harry, who had had visions of kissing Ginny ridiculously for an hour in front of the plane, adjusted his expectations.

 Ginny, as usual, reading his mind: “Don’t worry. I’ve briefed Ron that I’ll still be kissing you senseless so he had better start getting over it.”

 Harry grinned, “Bet he loved that.”

 “He called me a cocksucker, and then I pointed out that actually I hadn’t been in a year and a half–“

 “Gin!” 

 “–and he said my name exactly like that, yeah.”

 Harry couldn’t stop laughing, bright red in the post office for the last time as Millie shushed him, “You are unbelievable.”

 “Well, believe me.” she said, dryly, “I’ll be seeing you in 29 hours.”

 Harry, also counting, ducked his head, grinning. It turned out all his best luck was waiting at this part of his life, who knew. Thank God, Thank God, Thank God. 

 “I’m going to be totally unusable, you know. The flight’s twenty-one hours.”

 “Yeah, you’re an idiot. I know you’re on a whole no-magic kick but this really is the limit. What are you going to eat?”

 “Hermione says they serve eggs and stuff.”

 “Wow, really? How?”

 Harry considered. “I actually have no idea. Maybe please bring some chips or something to the airport.”

 Ginny laughed, the best sound in the world, “Only if you bring me some eggs.”

#sorry this is late sorry to all my unanswered messages i had to post this today i had to get it away from me!!! #hinny #hinny fic #harry potter #ginny weasley #otp: several sunlit days #i have to run everyone is waiting on me sorry everyone i love you all lots i turn 21 in three days who could believe it!!! #carolineswritingtag